October Pink

Pink ribbons are everywhere.

Around the lampposts,
where the leaves gather at their feet,
on fences silvered by the morning dew,
on the breasts of survivors,
on the bare branches of trees
that have begun to let go.

They flutter in the wind,
little promises,
gentle against the rust-colored world,
reminding us that somewhere,
someone is praying for good news.

Autumn sneaks in quietly.
Porch lights flicker on before supper.
Smoke rises from chimneys.
Behind one window,
a woman’s life is changing shape.

Her body has weathered a storm.
There are things she must grieve,
things she must let go,
days when healing requires courage.

The theater boosters leave flowers at her door.
A friend calls to listen.
Her sister brings dinner.
Someone else stays a little longer.
They tell her to be brave
when all she needs is to be held.

The trees release what they cannot keep.
The birds take flight to warmer skies.
The sun retreats earlier and earlier.

And still inside this season of letting go,
something wants to bloom.

So the ribbons keep moving,
fluttering like little heartbeats.

And on evenings
when the moon offers no comfort,
someone leaves a light on
because no one should have to find their way
through a dark October alone.