Poetry in Motion
Autumn LeavesMarilyn Chin
The dead piled up, thick, fragrant, on the fire escape.
My mother ordered me again, and again,
to sweep it clean.
All that blooms must fall. I learned this
not from the Tao, but from high school biology.
Oh, the contradictions of having a broom
and not a dustpan!
I swept the leaves down, down through the iron grille
and let the dead rain over the Wong family’s patio.
And it was Achilles Wong who completed the task.
We called her:
She blossomed, tall, benevolent, notwithstanding.
"Autumn Leaves" fromThe Phoenix Gone, the Terrace Empty by Marilyn Chin. Copyright © 1994. Reprinted with the permission of Milkweed Editions.