Autumn Leaving

For Didier

Vermont leaves under glass,

Your hands working the frame.

Each piece of tree and trail

For an easy reference.

Like the leaf whose red

Held fast for years

By your touch. Like me?

Black as bark, my grainy

Knuckles about to bud.

And on me everywhere

The print of fingers.

My chest become maple,

Thighs branched in two directions

From one lean trunk, one

Swollen searching taproot.

Here without you I prune myself

Repeatedly,

My hands pulling for seeds

Over the paths you took to leave:

Before, behind, and in.

Leaf after leaf of skin

Peels off.

Have you forgotten these?

Notes:

This poem was previously published in Love’s Instruments (Tia Chucha Press, 1995) and is part of the portfolio “Melvin Dixon: I’ll Be Somewhere Listening for My Name.” © Melvin Dixon and used with permission of the author’s estate. You can read the rest of the portfolio in the April 2024 issue.

Source: Poetry (April 2024)