Ada Limón 1976 – Out here, there’s a bowing even the trees are doing. Winter’s icy hand at the back of all of us.Black bark, slick yellow leaves, a kind of stillness that feelsso mute it’s almost in another year. I am a hearth of spiders these days: a nest of trying. We point out the stars that make Orion as we take out the trash, the rolling containers a song of suburban thunder. It’s almost romantic as we adjust the waxy blue recycling bin until you say, Man, we should really learnsome new constellations. And it’s true. We keep forgetting…
