Autumn Zuihitsu

The mythology of our autumn minds,
scatter-shot and red-leafy and uplifted,
we rely on the black roots
winding and stretching
from our windows that remind us
when leaves should shudder, tumble,
tell.

We rely so much on
every single face but ours.
So many smatterings of colors.

*

I care so much for you.

You are a sliver of moon/pie,
a soft rendering of something
sweet and plush and new,
that I want to chew down
Until it’s all love.

Rhythm me quietly,
Hermoso.
Keep me tapping
Like jazz star,
Keep me moving,
Like ornamental
Object I will
find for you
at Christmas

God, I care for you.

Don’t forget me
When you wake up,
Even if you do,
I will still clutch
my freezing
almohada
and imagine that it’s
you telling me

tranquila.

Author of the article

Jennifer Maritza McCauley is the author the author of the IPPY award-winning cross genre collection SCAR ON/SCAR OFF, the poetry collection KINDS OF GRACE (Spring 2024) and the short story collection WHEN TRYING TO RETURN HOME which was a New York Times Editors' Choice, Best Fiction Book of the Year by Kirkus Reviews, Must Read Book of 2023 by the Chicago Public Library, and called a Most Anticipated by Today. She has been granted fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts, Kimbilio and CantoMundo. She received her MFA from FIU and her PhD from the University of Missouri. She is presently an assistant professor at the University of Houston-Clear Lake, faculty at Yale Writers' Workshop, and fiction editor at Pleiades.