The Leaf 

The woman downstairs calls the leaf awful. 
She says it was trying to get inside the door 
and had stuck itself to the door frame. 

It was as if the leaf, not unhandsome 
with its speckles of red, yellow, orange,
had an attitude problem. She repeats 

awful full of disgust, as if this leaf 
should not exist at all, and most likely 
any fragment of stem, nut, bark, seed 

also tenacious in its presumption to belong 
would be awful too. I find myself picking up 
the leaf like a lost kitten and returning it

to the garden … there you go … as I let it 
get on with its cycle of decay, always 
its plan before the door got in the way.