Poetry

Eleventh Turn by Abby Gaydos

The sun rises cold and unfeeling. Bare limbs of steel reach into the sky, with claw-like fingers and nowhere to rest, shedding their leaves into the hard packed earth. 

Two bare feet still try their luck, venturing out on decaying ground. Dead grass, fallen leaves; singular traces of orange and gold layed out among the withering rubble, the last remaining traces of once vital life. 

Red from the cold, and wet with dew, they point themselves forward, out to the empty winter horizon. Two bare feet set to follow the earth as it turns once more over, passing light in handfuls back into the Moon, as the sky burns itself from the brilliant blue of summer into ash, and nothing more.