Oct 7, 2020
1 min read
Fall
A poem
The leaves bleed an orange red
the blood falling like mist
onto a wet ground.
Fall knocks on the door
peeling old scabs
exposing layers of colors
under skin.
Inviting us to wither,
Poetry, stories, and experiences of immigrants, travelers, and people who push, defy, live above and beyond borders in and out of their personal lives
