Ann Lovett
Fall to Frost
Leaves fall carelessly from
the trees, apples onto the damp
ground. Last tomatoes rot
and drop from slumping vines,
and the baptisia’s fat
seedpods have split, spilling
black seeds onto the deck
and grass. Everything
descends—leaves, seeds;
the sky lowers like
a tablecloth, light hooded
into night. Nightfall, starfall,
a stone drops, sinking
into the pond. Pull the drapes
and lower the shades. Your
limbs are full, then empty,
hair to your shoulders, hands
to your sides, rain
last night. Leaves
and apples down in one
fell swoop, windfall. Your robe
on the bedroom floor. Once
the tree was a petaled bruise,
the new world’s crushed
skin. Now, temperature falling
to frost. You
down through
the shortening days.
About the writer:
Ann Lovett is a poet and visual artist living in Ashland, Oregon. She holds an MFA in Printmaking from Tyler School of Art and an MFA in Poetry from Warren Wilson College. Recent publications include the Bellevue Literary Review, Arkana, Wolfpack Press, Gyroscope Review, Shawangunk Review, and an anthology, The Writers Studio at 30.
Image: Untitled from the Pattern Drawings Series by Ann Lovett. Mixed media image on panel (digital pigment prints with encaustic medium (beeswax) and image transfer). No size specified. No completion date specified. By permission.
