Penny Harter

Falling Leaves

in her eighties
she forgives it all—
falling leaves

Outside the library window, a circle of brown leaves has fallen below a winter-bare tree. Dry leaf tributaries spiral from it like arms of the Milky Way.

A patch of lichen, neon green this foggy day, climbs the rough bark like a lizard slowly making its way toward the sky.

Fuji at dusk—
pilgrim lanterns mark a trail
up the mountain

I’m here while a friend is getting medical treatment nearby. The waiting room there is sterile and cold, a sobering place with many patients being wheelchaired in and out, some even arriving on stretchers. Fortunately, that is not the case for my friend.

I am in my early eighties, and when I see these patients, I find myself staring at the inevitable diminutions of age—at the countdown of possible years remaining for those of us who are lucky enough to not yet be so visibly on our journey from this life to the next.

facing the graves
a small stone angel guards
the cemetery gate

Just now, wild geese mark the gray clouds like a charcoal sketch as they arrow their way over the parking lot. Though their bodies look dark, somehow they light a path as they go.

midwinter morning—
frost flowers of my childhood
find my window pane

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About the Author

Penny Harter’s poems appear in numerous journals and anthologies. Among her published books, seven feature haiku and related genres. Her recent collections include A Prayer the Body Makes; Still-Water Days ( free verse); Keeping Time: Haibun for the Journey (Kelsay Books, 2020, 2021, 2023). A Dodge Festival reader, Harter has received  fellowships and awards from the NJSCA, VCCA, and the PSA.

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