Autumn Feasts

By Zoya Mir

The fire crackles— 

             voices rise, wrapped in warmth 

of old quilts, tales unspun. 

Apples hiss as cider 

                           bubbles 

                           over— 

             cinnamon scents mingle with crisp air, 

               the echo of leaves tumbling, russet and gold. 

A table— 

   endless, creaking under 

harvest bounty, laughter’s rumble, 

the clatter of plates, 

hands reaching, sharing 

   stories long chewed on, 

                           and freshly peeled. 

Pause. A lull, a sigh— 

          dusk settles in the window’s frame, 

deep and blue, 

                         a silent witness. 

Chestnuts crack open, sharp 

and sudden; the sound 

of moments breaking free, 

as little one’s chase shadows 

in the yard, shrieking 

                             glee into the cool. 

The night folds— 

              softened with the euphony 

of remembered songs, 

and every bite a chorus, 

               each voice a note 

in the Symphony of Kin.