Doesn’t Everything Mean Something?

In late October, a Sunday afternoon doesn’t last for long. The front
lawn’s littered with soggy sycamore leaves & it looks deceptively

cold outside, but it isn’t. Wind pushes things around, seemingly
shiftless in its going no place special, like twitchy thoughts that

flicker on, and off, until it’s utterly dark, and you think, shutting
the door behind you, what will be punishment for staying out

too long, or not long enough? Who will tell you to go to your room
& think about it? You stand there in the kitchen’s darkness with

your back pressed against the door & listen to the click of the clock’s
second hand, or the faucet’s slight drip, or the sudden thump of

the pump in the cellar & feel water beneath your feet, rushing—
rushing somewhere without you.

M. J. Iuppa is the Director of the Visual and Performing Arts Minor Program and Lecturer in Creative Writing at St. John Fisher College, and since 2000 to the present, has been a part-time lecturer in Creative Writing at The College at Brockport. Since 1986, she has been a teaching artist, working with students, K-12, in Rochester, NY, and the surrounding area. She has three full-length poetry collections, most recently Small Worlds Floating (2016), as well as Within Reach (2010), both from Cherry Grove Collections; Night Traveler (Foothills Publishing, 2003); and 5 chapbooks. She lives on a small farm in Hamlin, NY.

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One Response to Doesn’t Everything Mean Something?

  1. jankeough11 says:

    I’m grateful, M. J., to be reminded that a Sunday afternoon in October doesn’t last for long…

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