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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