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Fancy pants

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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