Cyan memories cast their spell
across the autumns of my childhood,
transforming the colors of fall
into joyful tears.
A cottonwood tree
stood in my grandparents’ front yard
scattering its yellow leaves
across autumn’s brown grass.
Breathlessly
I waited for Grandpa
to rake the leaves
into a pile
and then put them
into a large steel barrel
to burn
before the trash tuck came
on Saturday
and transport their ashes
to the landfill.
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