Waxed

[Lizzie]

The changing leaves lie heavy
from all-day rain.
Each one hangs like a picture of itself,

not bumping into its neighbor,
or baring its underbelly
like yesterday.

Today, they pose glossy side up
like waxed supermarket produce,
silvery with polished rain, as if expecting company.

The changing leaves lie heavy
from all-day rain.
Each one hangs like a picture of itself,

not bumping into its neighbor,
dancing, or baring its underbelly
like yesterday.

Today, they pose glossy side up
[the side that looks like waxed supermarket produce],
silvery with polished rain, as if expecting company.

One drops to the ground, then another,
like daisy petals plucked
by the hand of some quiescence
buried deep inside its own mind.