Small, brown, curled from exhaustive
flaming beauty— one dried leaf
blown in when the back door opened
Landing off to the side of the hall
where no one
would probably take notice
sweeping it up
Engrossed as we are in keys
and phones and wallets and
whatnot— a small leaf
once a star of the fall season
is dead now
Susan Isla Tepper is a twenty years published writer in all genres. Her current project is an Off-Broadway Play on the subject of art and life.
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