Poinsettias

^{A white sky is at its heaviest in November; under it, two old sisters share the sidewalk where}

^{once they felt narrower hips reach over crack, over slope. This year, they use it to retrace,}

^{talk, familiarize grief with thief as if initiating the actor to the role}

^{of red fall leaves, from the enflamed cul-de-sac Sweetgum,}

^{collected to embellish the dinner table.}

^{As kids, they knew those stabs of pleasure}

^{preceded empty branches,}

^{which is why the pleasure,}

^{and why the empty.}

^{Just as quick as crunchy leaves are swept into the trash, the white poinsettias arrive wrapped in holiday foil.}

^{But this ugly decoration is unrelated to how and when winter should abbreviate autumn, according to them;}

^{daytime shortening against their consent, and the sisters accept they are not in charge of the changes,}

^{like an act curtain descending, they kept looking for the operator. Still, looking.}

^{Though upon coming home, the table is suppressed by a fresh collection –}

^{leave-taking, the endings of sweetness and expiration of grief,}

^{often a more problematical scene change for an older crowd}

^{who clutch tightly at everything – purses, railings,}

^{the hand of whoever can be taken away,}

^{even at their own pain, even}

^{the poinsettias.}