Autumn Passover

Impact, Heather Thornton




Autumn shuns Niagara Falls; it always has.

The cold water has always been cold,

The bare trees have always seemed bare,

The ground is usually hard-packed with primordial permafrost,

And daylight savings is a lie, for there has never been any daylight to save.


We stand in our front yard, bereft of vibrant autumn leaves,

The dead hay-grass claws at our booted feet

And Father Winter’s exhale pierces us,

Freezes our blood midstream and turns our bones to ice.


Staring wistfully towards where the Niagara roars,

Where the abysmal whirlpools churn in the river,

Where the water ferns are long dead and the mallards

And geese have absconded to the warmth,

We all imagine the autumn sun, distant, but warm and kind.


Thick, icy dusk settles over the edge of the Niagara River

And distant clouds carry the promise of snow.

We’ve missed it here, in our gray little town

Where the winter sun mocks us by shining

But not keeping us warm.




About the Author

Sierra Blackwell · Loyola University

Sierra Nicole Blackwell is a senior at Loyola University Maryland, majoring in English and pursuing her Masters of Arts in Teaching through a five-year program. She is a Niagara Falls, New York native and has a keen interest in multicultural and ethnic literature. “Autumn Passover” first appeared in Corridors. 

About the Artist

Heather Thornton · College of Charleston

“Impact” first appeared in Miscellany.

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