Father October Returns
a man of smoke on the hillside
looks like somebody’s father,
an unclaimed scarecrow
shuffling with outstretched hands
nothing fills the nihilist
like a murder of crows
greeting sundown, nothing
counts as hope
as much as a hint of autumn
the view has changed, a cluttered
room, antique, moth-ground, fluttering
fly wings on the grimy sills —
the abode he lost scraped from
the bottom of a brown-bagged bottle
snapshot of the last Detroit skyline
you saw: somebody’s father parts smoke
with a magic hand wave, blood &
cider mills, freakish accidents
these are the scenes your eyes
paint on these new walls
you clutter them with distractions
to hide the truth,
but the legion of 5,000 memory demons
scratch lies in the lines
of your mind
& it’s more than a fight this time
Image by Willgard Krause from Pixabay
Thistle Thoughts 
Thank you for posting! I love this line in particular: you clutter them with distractions
to hide the truth,
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Thanks for reading, Tammy ❤
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wow, this is really good stuff, Jennifer. I love the second stanza…
nothing fills the nihilist
like a murder of crows
greeting sundown, Great writing!
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Thank you so much for reading!
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Your very welcome
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What a wonderful poem! The beginning is fanciful and I felt delight, and then it gets realistic and dark! And all through, there is this beautiful lyricism that flows so well!
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thank you
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Welcome!
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