The Leaves of Fall

by Robert Tilewick (April 2013)

In the beginning we both believed in . . .

Is that it was chilly and misty in Central Park, I think it was the Winter,

Maybe snowing lightly

Nothing else existed but you

And I recall when I looked at you (I remember now, yes, it was snowing lightly)

You were placid, clear blue eyes, calmness of the blue-gray seas

In my pocket an aqua box and velvet strings

Our wonderment, no awareness of direction, as you and I walked to the Zoo,

Where the goats are.

The goats were so important to me

No, you were gazing at the future, at a dream:

A dream that your mother pasted on you.

We flew to California in your first month of Naomi-to-be

(How could one man bring Paradise onto earth?)

After her birth, in Brooklyn Heights

No matter how many trips we took to the Cape,

No matter how many times we tried, so hard,

No matter that two years later, Ben, divine Mr Ben, was born.

The leaves are falling just as in the beginning, endings are so hard

But Ben had, and always will have, the last word:

As I was sitting on the taffeta couch in what was then my home

Mr Ben looked at me so quizzically and said,

And Naomi had, and always will have, the last word:

In the kitchen with that ugly neon light,

Six years on earth and she implored me to keep a secret, and I said I would:

And I promised.

Robert Tilewick is an attorney and writer who resides in Connecticut.

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