By Cara Burke

In thick air, and filled with keen autumn odor,
On unevenly mud-sunk, moldy ground,
The frost-flecked stripes of sunlight slanting under
Apple-branches, bobbing, so the sound
Is soft, slow, constant, thinly hissing,
As spare wasp rattled leaves by spiders bound
In bunches slide and scrape, scantily pressing, -
And soon,
From branches busy dying in their dryness,
Drunken berries and broad red leaves drop down.


Cara Burke is a senior undergraduate at Hillsdale College in south central Michigan. Originally from Dayton, Ohio, Burke majors in English and also takes courses in Greek, music, and history. She has served on the editorial board for the campus literary magazine, in which she has been publishing poems for the past three semesters. During her free time she plays the violin, volunteers at a local women's center, and hosts a weekly literary discussion. Two summers ago, Burke traveled to Oxford University for private tutorials, and she spent last summer in Wyoming directing a wilderness sports program. In June, Burke will be married and applying for teaching jobs or graduate study.

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