Father Land Poem by Linda Marie Van Tassell

It's that autumn time of year,
when things curl into themselves,
when clouds open eyes to tear,
and pictures stare from the shelves.

You are yet a dream to be,
undisclosed within the dust.
As they left you, you left me,
in a ball of flames combust.

The season fell; the snow fell.
My heart fell into the wood.
My tears fell into the well
of the last of my girlhood.

Seasons come and seasons go.
A ghost of guilt holds my hand.
The rain falls on Father Joe
who sleeps deep in Father Land.