I’M NOT PREPARED

I’m not prepared to put my flip flops in the closet.

Nor my summer dresses, into the bottom drawer.

To watch the leaves, fall from the trees, exposing their age,

just as every grey hair in my head does.

I’m not prepared, for autumn breezes.

or rainy afteroons, that become nights and days.

Trudging through rain puddles, in my peep toes.

I’m not prepared, for darkness, late in the morning,

and nightfall, before the afternoon has even ended.

How did it become autumn? I didn’t even plant my summer garden.