September, the month when seasons change, When emerald leaves turn to burnt copper. A lonely breeze meandering, like a lonely child, pining for home. September, when I open the cracked timber door, that broken piece of my mother’s best china; September, when my dreams, my treasures, Are crushed and shattered to the ground. I long for those leaves, of ripe citrus and corn, Dancing as the wind puts on a show. But no, the sky is a ball of crackling fire; Sunburned, bleached, and utterly broken– With the eyes of a lion, ready to pounce As we choke on soot, our lungs screaming For mercy.