Tim Smajda
All of us walked along the trail, golden leaves above and beside still shaking
off last night’s rain. I kept ten steps behind the rest, and someone laughed and
then another and then everyone else was laughing. I watched everyone’s feet
tread upon the brown dirt path littered with copper leaves and grey worms.
A wind rustled the trees; a spray of mist fell upon our heads and a yellow leaf
drifted past my gaze and disappeared into the woods. I hoped that some day
a breeze would blow and pluck me from where I was too.
I had the honor of sitting in Pauline’s poetry workshop class in Spring of 2019 and wanted to submit a poem that was a favorite of hers from my portfolio.