The sunlight gilds the starch-stiff grass
and the scent of dryer sheets plumes out
from beneath the house on the corner.
The sprinkler, inconvenient and impressing the grass,
rains its nutritious crescendo down on me;
I shake like a dog and my hair dries with
the still autumn air.
A delicious industry:
Sunlight, gold still, is smelted with the amber
leaves and makes copper drips
and I drag my feet through the decorous drops.
A slug hitches a ride on one of my
Chucks and we make
conversation about the weather and the state
of the climate.
by Gianna Hayes ’26