Looking Outside the Upstairs Window, and It's All Saints Day

The dead-end street in front of the house is still, and I notice leaves have fallen. The roommate said last night no one came here for trick or treating and now a cold wind blows. I just moved in here yesterday. I’m starting my life again. A cold wind blows and I go out. Last night a stranger and I drank together. She said no one knows you like your mother. The lady set down her drink and asked where has the year gone. Where has the year gone? My mom’s gone. My dad’s gone, I think tonight I’ll call my cousin. The street in front is quiet. rolled up newspapers are stacked on the front porch of the house next door. A ravine lies on the east side where the road ends. Music plays downstairs and a singer’s voice drones to the rhythm of a drum machine then falls silent. A door slams shut. The most recent poem I write is a lost conversation. All my past loves and all who died— their shadows dance on the wall as the sun looks through my window. I’ll grab a bite for breakfast after stepping out the door. I haven’t met the neighbors, not yet. It’s true that we are looking for someone, it’s true. A fallen leaf dances across the yard and my back aches. A story stirring inside me lives beyond its time.