Last Fall

By Niall Twohig

You fell four times that year,

crumpled in a pile each time,

we heaved you up.

Beyond your final room:

San Diego, defying its

seasonlessness,

autumns.

The leaves are crisper

this year.

Some the color of the

hole forming in your cheek.

This will be your last fall.

And part of you, like that of the leaf,

will survive the rot.