a name lost to you over millennia
with more flash and glitz than 'gourd'
but you three are making up
for that with how you dress.
No matter that you sound
like a growl in people's throats
when you are the vessels of history
and myth: water-carriers, birdhouses,
drums and nose-flutes, the carriage
for a princess. Bright, hard-skinned,
your own determined selves.
If the end of autumn
is leaf-mulch and wood-smoke
then you are the unbridled
beginning, the flag-waving,
fancy-pants of its arrival.
We want more of you. We want to
fill the kitchen with your rowdiness
as the days slowly shrivel,
as we light the fire earlier
each night. You're the echo
of summer, the sun packed
tight within you like memories,
the ones we cannot let go.
Hungry Writing Prompt
Write about hard-skin.
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