Two Close Friends, autumn of ’64

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(for Sylvia)

Autumn shadows cast amber silhouettes

on sidewalks; the sun sets early knowing

how tired we had become of hot days.

Remember aged oaks with garnet leaves,

and homecoming queens?

We once

laughed out loud tumbling into pyramid piled leaves

that floated over our faces and itched inside our shirts.

In the distance a neighbor’s rake scraped the sidewalk.

The summer smelled gone.

Heavy books in the crook of our arms, we strolled home,

your hair flamed in the fading afternoon and we whispered intrigues

of boys in the halls and the girls who thought they loved them,

of Latin and this Friday’s sock hop – oh how I wished he asked me!

Two close

friends separated by another year, another sunset.

Those autumn walks, our world had just begun

like smoke curling from a pile of burning leaves.

-Lesley Lababidi

(all rights reserved, Copyright 2006)

To copy or re-produce photography and/or writings, written permission from Lesley Lababidi is required.

5 thoughts on “Two Close Friends, autumn of ’64

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