Orange peels. Cinnamon sticks, 

season of the witch. 

Mary Jane’s and socks with frills, 

there’s bows and scarves, and I think pip mentioned bread. 

Or berries.

The air makes me think of ink pens, 

the kind that smudge on the page and leave reminders on your hands all day long. 

That’s not a summer pen,

no, summer is more of a pencil,

but with orange peels comes pens that smudge and an impending gloominess that warms

your soul like the soup you’ll no doubt find yourself fancying tonight.

This poem is inspired by October.

This was written by our contributing writer, Tianna Lagano.