Liza Katz


The fall belongs to you, who stirred when leaves
beamed orange and flashed against a concrete sky.

You drove me past your house, with its square of grass,
its plaster-cased Madonna. You pointed out

the water tower, the makeshift crosses there,
and named each broken kid who tried to fly.

I knew you couldn’t stay, so I drew the shades
and turned the clocks an hour back to buy

more time with you: it’s true, the fall belongs
to you, but winter’s darkest days are mine.


LIZA_KATZLiza Katz teaches English as a second language in New Jersey. Her poems and essays have appeared in Poet Lore, Omniverse, The Cumberland River Review, The Critical Flame, and other journals.


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