Before Dawn in October -- Julia Kasdorf

(Poem #191)Before Dawn in October The window frame catches a draft that smells of dead leaves and wet street,  and I wrap arms around my knees,  look down on these small breasts,  so my spine forms a curve as perfect as the rim of the moon. I want to tell the man sleeping curled as a child beside me that this futon is a raft. The moon and tiny star we call sun are the parents who at last approve of us. For once,  we haven't borrowed more than we can return.  Stars above our cement backyard are as sharp as those that shine far from Brooklyn,  and we are not bound for anything worse than we can imagine, as long as we turn on the kitchen lamp and light a flame under the pot, as long as we sip coffee from beautiful China-blue cups and love the steam of the shower and thrusting our feet into trousers. As long as we walk down our street in sun that ignites red leaves on the maple, we will see faces on the subway and know we may take our places somewhere among them. -- Julia Kasdorf