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Image by Kat von Wood


Must be something about Autumn,
about the sun retreating. Maybe we
need Summer first, like the ocean,
soaking up the heat, getting ready
to give it away.

Autumn was New Year for my Jewish ancestors,
eating apples and honey while the season turned
on its fulcrum, began its fall into the dark.

Are you that sweetness, then?
This year’s juice on my lips, to cling to 
as the ferryman takes my hand,
leads me, gentle, inevitable,
away from the light?

The taste has never stayed until Spring.
This time, I dare to hope you might.

Becca used to write poetry to procrastinate from a Biology degree and accidentally procrastinated their way into a writing career.  They’ve published individual poems in More Exhibitionism, BFS: Horizons, Vortex, and Poetry For All. In 2020 they contributed twelve poems to the joint collection Steel-Tipped Snowflakes, published by Stairwell Books. They live in the UK with their wonderful partner and an elderly lizard called Gizmo.

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