Dearest November

Dearest November,
You arrive with fog in your pockets,
smell of wet bark and fermented spices.
You stretch the nights like an old sweater.
Kiss the windowsills with frost like a lover.
You get me brunches,
bustling markets filled with lanterns and laughter.

You dress the city with drizzle
and strip-tease trees.
Teach the moon to linger longer.
Rearrange the furniture of my thoughts
and move the longing couches closer.

You make candles feel important
and set a long table.
Sharpen every guest of wind
Into questions I am unable to answer.

Sometimes you push me on a swing,
and I spill my coffee laughing,
watching the sky forget its color.

You make me sit on rocking chairs
with hefty books that shiver
as if the stories inside
them remember colder Decembers.

You are a month, a season for many
but for me
You are what love remembers.