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Such an ugly word,
for a delicate bird;
so growling in its evocation
it stirs up the unfamiliar
opposite of winged flight:

that instant sinking
of a bloated belly,
a head ducking out of view
beneath a countertop covered in empties;
a date, settled on, that is arrived at
and remains tepid and hollow
by unplanned events.

We wished for an autumn
that would transpire with grace
to slice across turning
leaves, dry foot paths,
to another year
and an other.

Unconvincingly separate,
we exist in this way
save for confrontation –

the simple mirror of our hands,
of a look, outside
the parameters of weather
is met. And I am billowing
into the next season, emptying gutters
and recycling bins of what’s
carried over from the mornings after.

by Allison LaSorda

Allison LaSorda

Allison LaSorda lives in Parkdale, Toronto. She holds a MA in English and Creative Writing from University of New Brunswick. Her poetry and nonfiction can also be read in Grain, The Rusty Toque, The Fiddlehead, and The Malahat Review.


Work for Monthly Verse is selected through our editorial process. New poems are selected from authors that submitted work for the last issue. Read more authors by subscribing to Fjords.