watching the leaves fall one at a time, I recollect our vacuum

Because you are allergic I clear the filter, and each time marvel anew at the fuzzy

clump of intertwined castoffs– our dead skin cells shed singly, our hairs (your grays, my I’m-no-longer-sure-what-to-call-it-anymore color), our oils the transitory binding.

I place the linty mass at the balcony's edge. Approve of the wind's grab, pushing it out of sight,

gust scraping ground clean, forecasting bitterly cold. Perhaps this offering can serve to line some critter's winter nest.

Currently, LA is a financial analyst at the University of Iowa. Before that, she was a seminary professor. Prior to that, she was a pastor. She credits the Free Generative Writing Workshops, the Midwest Writing Center, and workshops offered through Iowa City Poetry with her development as a poet. Her poetry recently appeared in Moot Point Magazine, Gyroscope Review, and Feral Journal. To give back to the writing community, she organizes a writers open mic at the public library (or via Zoom during pandemics) and serves on the advisory council of Iowa City Poetry. She is the author of the chapbook The Length of a Clenched Fist (Finishing Line Press) and blogs at http://lafelleman.blogspot.com.