You Left me in the Fall

An evening lengthened, drew in darker, at beginning of the Fall,
Leaves were sodden; heart felt trodden; saw your suitcase in the hall.
You pushed past me, grabbed the suitcase, and opened up the door.
The cold wind blew, I shivered, standing barefoot on the floor.

Your look was icy, like the floor tiles, it seeped down to my toes,
I was naked, I was weeping; I implored you not to go.
You looked through me, through the door, which led into the night,
Said you wished that I’d said ‘Sorry’ in a way that was less trite.

I heard Autumn’s golden whispers floating through the open door,
They tumbled, as I crumpled, then your voice came as a roar.
And your words fell on my nakedness, as I trembled in the hall,
But you cast your eyes away and would not look at me at all.

My redundant words flew after you, as you then walked away,
My voice muffled in some piles of leaves, urging you to stay,
You kicked aside the leaves and words. Was I heard at all?
As you strode away, not looking back, that early day of Fall.