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  • By Eleanor Aspen

Sestina of Seasons

Looking upwards at the clear summer sky

I see all the trees have green leaves

The same color as the grass on the ground.

The sun shines its magnificent daylight

All over the blue, devoid of any stars,

And everyone knows the moon is asleep.

As the moon sneaks out a crescent, I am asleep,

Sadly missing the subtle light in the sky

That is cast down by the heat of the stars,

Giving a slight white glint to the leaves

On the trees that slumber in the moonlight,

Casting obscure shadows on the ground.

The autumn wind blows acorns across the ground

And into the feet of people half asleep

In their sweaters. Cloud distributed light

Falls from the sun and into the sky

Just as the trees shed their orange leaves.

The yellow light highlights the lack of blue stars

Until the moon rises and I can see the stars

With the brilliant blue they cast on the dying ground.

Dying elegantly, though not as much as the leaves

That everyone sees, because it is too nice to be asleep

During the cold, dark abyss of the sky

Clearly shown above us by the starlight.

The cold snow around me reflects the light

Of winter, whiter than any night star

As it continues to fall from the sky.

Soon the powder covers the entire ground

While I decide I would rather be asleep

During the cold season that abandons trees without leaves.

But the full moon high at nighttime leaves

Snow on the earth glittering with its light

And I no longer wish I were asleep

As I glance down upon the earthly stars

That are littering the snow on the ground,

But hardly noticed at all in the sky.

The spring deposits blossoms on the ground instead of leaves,

Rain replacing any light that may be in the sky

As Schrödinger’s stars lull us all into gentle sleep.

Eleanor Aspen is a poet based in the Southern United States. In addition to writing, she enjoys travelling and usually finds inspiration abroad. She spends a lot of her free time reading Baudelaire and drinking copious amounts of tea.

1 Comment

Dec 12, 2022

Aspects of this poem pleased me. For instance: to use the mechanical aspects of the sestina to suggest the remorseless progression of the seasons; and to start off in Summer, and use the last tercet for Spring.

But I must admit I was puzzled by the sudden appearance of Schroedinger right at the end. What was he doing there? Or am I missing something? In what sense do the stars belong to him? Or has he become a contemporary replacement for God?

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