Through the Back Window
by Katrina Carmichael
Only the first of September,
yet there in the dumpster
behind our new home,
a maple leaf, brown and cracked,
like a man who had lain too long in the sun.
The leaf leapt from the tenth story
of the tree, without looking down
to spot the dumpster’s open arms
waiting. We saw it tremble,
then jump, its veins plump and wet.
Now stiff, stuck
on last week’s celery stalk,
dead and blood warm.