Christina Thibodeau "Fall"


This fall has felt like a false spring
with warmth in the air
every other day
and rain to drown out the sound of the coming winter.
It’s odd that a slow death
sometimes looks
and feels
and is
like a rebirth,
A laugh fading into a last breath.
The leaves are blazing,
dying,
burning their beautiful colors
into my eyes,
but the way the wind pulls
at my eyelashes
tempts me into thinking that it’s spring
and that summer is just around the corner.
You know, 
they say that the time to be most worried
about someone who is suicidal
is when they seem to be happy again.
Happy
and at peace,
the two things you wished they were
that night they messaged you about
calling a crisis line for the second time in a week,
are now the signs of impending darkness,
the blazing colors of a leaf
that’s
just
about
to
drop.
And isn’t it something
that the level of happiness
I feel during the day
is converted ounce for ounce at night
and my connection to the tree is just a little looser
and fall looks just a little more appealing,
but my colors,
my colors are so beautiful today,
I am so bright.
I had this idea,
as a kid,
that I could pick up the leaves off the ground
and glue them back onto the trees they’d fallen off of,
preserving them forever,
keeping the colors bright
but preventing the fall.
Maybe what I need
is for a small child
or someone with childlike faith
to take a little glue
and hold me here.
And maybe all that person needs to do,
maybe all I want them to do,
is to not be fooled by the warm breeze
because fall is here in all its glory
and we all know what comes next.