Fred Aiken Writing

September 23, 2023

THE FALL WILL COME

autumn’s metamorphosis, a spectral dance, chlorophyll’s retreat,
in a verdant trance 
seeping, beneath the lens of scrutiny, abscisic whispers free, tease, float,
farewell to chloroplasts, green cells’ domain, carotenoids unmasked, pigments wane
a day’s decline, 
auxins’ flux, the soft design sketched into the horizon,
a rhythmic cascade, synapses fire, 
neurons ablaze in the cooling pyre 
while intricate as helixes catch fire,
shift profound, underground, 
biological clocks in whispers, unbound
deciduous syntax, leaves dissected, 
burning vernacular decay, not neglected
as microbes get to work, writing cellulase’s script,
temperatures plummet, enzymes cease, phenolic compounds bring autumn’s peace
fluorescence, gone, a reverie of pigment, 
a season’s song, waning,
fall’s chemistry caught in a beaker, 
decoded, polyphenols aflame in colors bestowed 
dendritic pathways, neural networks splay, 
unharmonious prose, caught in the seasons changing, fall, flat, 
nature’s data points, her cryptic call
a season’s wisdom, in every leaf’s sway

September 22, 2023

SHOW, OR TELL, EITHER WAY…

Andi looked around and saw a sea of strange faces. Aliens, she thought. Trying to peer into her head. Pry open her skull. Dig through her abdomen. Take whatever soft organs they wanted. Feast. Probe. Slaughter. There was nothing she could do.

Andi regretted watching Aliens and Rambo with her dad that summer. At the time she didn’t regret it. She felt defiant. Her mom had protested. Her mom claimed that it wasn’t proper for a young lady to be watching those sorts of movies. It was untoward. Unchristian. But her dad insisted his kids, Andi and her brother, Chris, watch his favorite movies from when he was growing up. It was a rite of passage, their dad claimed. A cinematic rite.

Andi and Chris spent the rest of the summer collecting acorns in the forest behind their house and throwing them at one another as if they were on a mission. A secret spy mission where they needed to kill all the communists, or aliens, depending on the hour and day. Chris teased Andi that acorns were like tree poop, so whenever he pelt her with an acorn he would yell, ‘Tree poop! Tree poop! You just got hit with tree poop!’

Then summer was over. School started up again. She stood before a classroom of her peers. The smell of unscented hand sanitizer and sweat overwhelmed her senses. Her heart raced as she tried to remember why she was standing in front of the class to begin with. She didn’t like the feeling. She didn’t know what to call it then, but she later experienced the feeling later in life, again and again, and grew to know the feeling of anxiety quite well. Too well. Anxiety became a childhood friend that she didn’t like seeing.

The assignment was to briefly share what she did all summer. In front of the entire class.

Watched violent movies.

Played outside with my brother. 

Got hit with tree poop.

She padded the side of her jean’s pockets. She still had some acorns hiding in there. She liked to feel the contours of the acorns. The sensation comforted her. She also had an ulterior motive. She didn’t want to report to the classroom filled with alien kids peering up at her what she did all summer. Instead, maybe she would show them. 

Andi pulled out her hand filled with acorns she brought from home, tensed her muscles up, and wound back…

September 21, 2023

TO REACH OUT

tea on a hot day,
hot tea on a day,

tea leafs thrown at the wall
and told to stay, don’t move,

be right back,
or maybe not at all,

the simplest of pleasures made to look
too damn complex, rearranged, folded, carved up,

for viewing pleasure, 
or a pleasant view,

though not if they are avant-garde,
cause otherwise you’re expected to not like them,

throw them up,
hands up, lay on the ground, don’t look at me!

don’t you dare,
dare, to not look at me!