NATURE Poem: abecedarian for decomposers, by Georgia Riordan

autumn is the season of rot.
before the bodies ice over in winter,
carefully preserved by the cold,
death ravages the newly deceased and
eats merrily away at the
freshest flesh and pulp. There is no
grave that escapes devourment; no
isolated case of a body left
just as it was when it
keeled into the unknown after.
love will not keep the bones covered—
mushrooms are born hungry during harvest;
newborn scavengers need to feed
on the very weakest of
prey. the dead can’t fight back.
quilts of fallen leaves provide a
rest for the soul but not the
skin. the mites will find their way in
to the holes left open. does this make autumn the
ugliest season? you think her heartless,
violent and insatiable, but she is not
xeric by choice. but you, however,
you can choose to die some other time and
zincate what’s left of you. for now.

Author: poetryfest

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