Fallen Leaves

In his new poem
the red autumn woods
are a metaphor
for leftist martyrs
We are traveling east through a maple forest
that blazes the hillsides on both sides of this winding
back-country road  Look at the trees I want to tell him
Listen  The trees have their own stories to tell
like the story of fire deep within the heart  They too
have been martrys in the long war against the land, a nation
cut down, children denied
A hundred years ago these hills were bare of trees
the stone walls that wind through them
the illusion of ownership  Now the hills are red with maples
My heart is leaping out to meet them, my eyes
cannot be full enough  Though acid falls from the clouds
maples have gathered on the hillsides
in every direction  See how they celebrate
They are wearing their brightest dresses
Come sisters, let me dance with you
I offer you a song
Let me paint
it red with 
passion 
You are
all the women
I have ever loved


Red, by Cheryl Savageau