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September, a poem by Lylanne Musselman


Sunlight glows low
through my windows,
a changed position
from high summer light,
the golden hour that casts
a robust yellow glare
across roads, signs, rearview mirrors,
blinding reflections surrender
to sunsets sooner each day.

Hummingbirds fatten
for long flights,
summer solitary
they share nectar at last.
Dry cornstalks stiffen in fields,
waiting for harvest.
Leaves fall to the ground.
Pumpkin spice scents, apples ripen
into cider amid bushels of fall festivals,
perennial as forget-me-nots.

Lylanne Musselman is an award-winning Hoosier poet, playwright, and visual artist. Her work has been published in many journals including Flying Island, The Tipton Poetry Journal, and The New Verse News, among others, and many anthologies. Musselman is the author of five poetry chapbooks and a full-length poetry collection, It’s Not Love, Unfortunately (Chatter House Press, 2018).