The Next To Last Leaf

Winter is coming and I’m not ready to go.
Something that should have lasted longer
has faded, spring isn’t anywhere close at hand,
and I’m in the way of the seasonal need.

Leaves that don’t come loose from the tree
are not natural.  They are supposed to die.
When they drift to the ground, they let themselves feed
the next generation.  If they hang on too long
they block the way for the young.

I’ve fed too long on sun
meant for others. I am cracked, mottled,
and impatient for the end, but somehow,
I’m not capable of letting go even as I pray for the fall
to bring me to some rest, to some usefulness
for the ones who come next.  It’s all
I can hope for, and I can’t even let myself
do that when the light up here is so bright,
so lovely, so warm.