the hard edge of autumn

tonight, the moon's a scythe, 
a reminder of all that's been
cut and reaped, memories
not sad, but beautifully familiar

late-evening stroll on upscale avenues
stained-glass windows, open shades reveal 
glimpses of luxury and well-appointed lives

a Baby Grand in a bay window
sounds the opening notes
of Moonlight Sonata, while next door

Mahalia Jackson wails a joyous prayer
into rooms empty except for a stereo,
a leather couch, a man with his head in his hands

outside, frost on the chrysanthemums 
the hard edge of autumn on its way

clinging to the last summer hours
as heat and light bleed away,
I could curl up into sadness
as if inside this crescent moon

© Margot Gallant