By Lydia Bogar
My leafy fences will soon be gone
To join summer’s pink sunsets.
Sweatshirts will emerge,
And acorns will appear underfoot.
September brings my birthday,
Takes me back to school,
Gives me apples, more apples, so many apples.
And lets me sleep with the windows wide open.
September sends geese into their southern flights,
Honking without breaking form.
Lawnmowers don’t dare to breach the peace.
As oak leaves cluster and fall.
Shrubs and small trees shed their greenery,
Revealing my dining room table to passing cars.
Campers and canoes come home from the beach.
And school buses slide by.
Joanne was born on September 11.
She died before the assassins came with their hate.
September is hard for a mother
Whose fences are coming down.
Our own “Renaissance Woman,” Lydia has done everything from teaching English to doing volunteer emergency service. She says she “hails from Woostah—educated at BOLLI.”