Fall 2017 final digital.pdf


Metaphor
Kate Marquam

the fall is not a 
metaphor for my 
father. the sunlight 
strained orange and 
gold through brittle 
leaves is not his 

eyes when pumpkins 
 

grocery store parking 
lots.  my smile is not 

 
 

but glowing. when 
people ask if  I’m 
ok, I tell them that 
shit happens.  people 

 

every year and the 
world never ends, 
but the fall is not 
a metaphor for my 
father.  my father 

is not a broken 
tree that couldn’t 
survive the long 
winter, is not a 

season, but I can’t 
 

orange sunset without 
searching for his 

eyes somewhere