Autumn Faces
"Back home, we glimpse our autumn faces in the hallway mirror."
Bartek/AdobeStock
Today, in late August,
we sit by the lake,
eat a tart orange
and watch sailboats
navigate
the shifting winds.
The season pivots
and bends
to the darkening north.
The sailboats tack
to what the season
sends.
At our feet,
we find a maple leaf
of blazing orange-red,
summer’s life
no longer flowing
in its veins.
Our eyes meet,
and for a moment,
we hold our breath,
stilled
by this marriage
of beauty and death.
Back home,
we glimpse
our autumn faces
in the hallway mirror.
We sigh, then smile
at what the season
reflects.
We clean
last winter’s traces
from the wood stove,
knowing
what’s coming next.
Dr Pies would like to thank Richard Berlin, MD, for his helpful comments on this poem.
Dr Pies is professor emeritus of psychiatry and lecturer on bioethics and humanities, SUNY Upstate Medical University; clinical professor of psychiatry emeritus, Tufts University School of Medicine; and editor in chief emeritus of Psychiatric Times (2007-2010). Dr Pies is the author of several books.
