When we come home we rake leavesOn your birthdayOn ThanksgivingBumbling through the front yardUp and down, up and downRaking back somber soppy foliageTo reveal startling green grass Rich and dark, like the shiny stringy bedsYou used to stuff in our Easter basketsIt feels too green, too soft, too gentle,under the dead leavesLike we’re callously ripping Continue reading