Turning Leaves - Kevin Caldwell
poem read by Timothy Arliss OBrien
Turning Leaves
Kevin Caldwell
Life is full of leaves.
Fallen, raked, piled, burnt.
Leaves taken.
Leaves turned.
Early leaves.
My father,
A leaf that turned and left
Leaving a growing limb and branch
Here alone.
More Leaves.
Some wither before they leave,
Carried away in a winter wind into autumn.
Others grow and, once grown, leave.
One, a tiny hand cold to my touch
Leaving, gone, left.
Others I wish to see turn and leave.
The dry, barren aching sap in this old trunk,
The trembling leaves my fingers shake at the world,
All clinging to stem and branch,
Refusing to turn or to leave.
I am leaving.
Was born leaving.
Leaves upon leaves turning, falling, piled.
Face, skin, hair, drying,
Leaving into winter.
There are fewer leaves left for turning.
Soon, leaving will be all I have left.
All our leaves are turning.
Green, gold, burnt yellow, ambered, blackened,
Brittle and falling,
Crunched and crumbled underfoot into dirt,
And dust, and worm, and mulch, and loam.
All the leaves down in the brown dark earth,
Awaiting another turn.
Kevin Caldwell is from California; Pennsylvania; Uganda; South Asia; and works with music; poetry; "soulcialism;" contemplative,
meditative music and poetry; spirituality; creativity; sacred texts; he is also a life partner with daughters and grandchildren.
