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I met Autumn in the Spring
Right under a blossoming cherry tree
You can say that that's quite filled with irony
and I - for one - would agree.
It was right before
My first ever college class
She was waiting, too
Everything around
me shifted, the world it did
She was all that's left
She walked with such grace
as if dancing on water
She was mystical
She breathed towards me
Her words chiming, like a song
"What is your major?"
"Art," I said to her
She scoffed and turned away from me
Did that cause her harm?
But, yet, she peered back
A smile encasing her rich face
"Why did you chose art?"
I, baffled at this
Reached into my brown satchel
Pulled out my sketchbook
And ribbon, she took
From her side bag and wrapped it
Around the spiral
Then I cocked my head
to the side, very confused
"Who the fuck are you?"
"Autumn," she told me
Her name made my life complete
Then, she entered class
I met Autumn in the Spring
Right under a blossoming cherry tree
You can say that that's quite filled with irony
and I - for one - would agree.
YOU ARE READING
An Autumn-Laced Sketchbook
PoetryAlice White, who describes herself as a "somewhat curvy Hispanic chick," moves from her small hometown in Georgia to the still-somewhat-small area of Portland, Oregon where she finds she is more gay than she thought she was.
