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September Poem

I am September's child, month that birthed me
and fled three days later; the weeks are
like a wish I'm traveling on toward that day
month that cannot decide
which season it is, the 7th month
on the Roman calendar, god's number
month of the great fire of London
of the second World war and
the attack on the world trade center
day the 11th became the whole month
and wasn't just that one day I lay
crouched in a fetal position waiting
to be let out...this year

the weather was beautiful like a painting all week
I didn't know what I was doing in it or why those
three women were walking down the street toward me
each with an infant in a pouch around their breasts
or how I became the fourth woman
the years didn't add up to the right number for it
and didn't make any sense but I am
September's child and they never did
even when they should have---

I blow out the days like candles:
make a wish a voice says
which one I ask
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                           Linda Lerner