Poetry in Your Eyelashes

I remember reading the Finnish poet Pentti Saarikoski who said that he felt the new season in his eyelashes. I’ve been feeling autumn in my hair—the faintest tracings of coming cold. I want to reach up and brush it away as if I’ve walked through a spider’s web. But there’s no silk to brush aside. Autumn has touched me casually, almost absent mindedly, like an old aunt.

I know how this works: autumn will soon move to my eyelashes and where it will announce itself as flurries.

Good morning autumn. I am printing your money as fast as I can.

 

S.K.