September 19th by andrea Weiser "...tell a sad story" contest Poetry winner www Wind kicks up memories— the air is stiff and smells like pumpkins. Winter lays her skirts across the peaks and waits. a I remember turning, spinning a little girl crossing autumn streets with a large ladybug under one arm. Oak leaves quivered like fingers, ready to drop. a What was her name, the woman who held my hand? Crossing campus streets, she sent quietness through my fingers. She watched me stare at things she couldn’t see. We were dwarfed among bricks, steel and concrete. The giants of St. Paul, trapped in a grid, towered. a We wandered at my pace, her gait slightly crouched to meet my smallness. She felt bad, I knew, about my mother. She hoped to buffer the pain. a She didn’t see me walk with ghost feet, half in her world, half in the other. She didn’t see my mother either, lilting above us like airborne feathers. a Weiser's complete poetry entry can be found in our Spring '98 Issue Forward -- Previous -- Contents