October

By Don Thompson b. 1942 Don Thompson

I used to think the land

had something to say to us,

back when wildflowers

would come right up to your hand

as if they were tame.

Sooner or later, I thought,

the wind would begin to make sense

if I listened hard

and took notes religiously.

That was spring.

Now I’m not so sure:

the cloudless sky has a flat affect

and the fields plowed down after harvest

seem so expressionless,

keeping their own counsel.

This afternoon, nut tree leaves

blow across them

as if autumn had written us a long letter,

changed its mind,

and tore it into little scraps.

Poem copyright ©2010 by Don Thompson, whose most recent book of poetry is Where We Live, Parallel Press, 2009. Reprinted from Plainsongs, Vol. 30, no. 3, Spring 2010, by permission of Don Thompson and the publisher.

Biography

Poet Don Thompson was born in Bakersfield, California, in 1942, and has lived in the southern San Joaquin Valley for most of his life. Retired from teaching in a nearby prison, he and his wife, Chris, live on her family’s cotton farm. Thompson's publications include Been There, Done That (2002), Sittin’ on Grace Slick’s Stoop (2006), Turning Sixty (2008), Where We Live (2009), and Everything Barren Will Be Blessed (2012). Back . . .

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