With gratitude for your Rilke reflections, this poem.
November Is the Namefor Neighbor
Tuesday when I wake up I’ll walk to my town hallto make our country again.
November is a party’s weather. Isn’t a leaf a vote,the wind winding down its
burnt campaign? There’s more than enough to complain about,set right, with one vote.
Memory is a way to remember. And stopping, before I ballot,to see the crushed bird, that barred
owl—that one vote—wings’ splayed, cast on the paved road.Isn’t it fair to say a feather is more
than a feather when it meets my eye. Say aye here, if you wantto be remembered. If you want
to see what’s here. Because of what we’ve made of the weather.Because of the party the wind makes
when it calls us together, by the side of the road. Saywhen we cross paths again,
checking ourselves off the checklist. Say when November is the namefor neighbor.
Gary MargolisMiddlebury, VT
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