80 degrees, too hot for October, leaves
too green, too attached. The grass keeps growing, seeds.
I keep my seeds to myself, thankful each month
for shedding—October of the uterus.
I think of it as happy not-a-father’s
day, not-a-mother’s day alternatingly,
even when I’m single. But the first brisk
October breeze brings horribly domestic
feelings. I want to bake buns, tarts, blueberry
scones! I want to deep clean carpets! Buff kitchen
tiles, scrub grout on hands and knees to impress
another mother-in-law. I want a carpenter
to rush home to—real pumpkins—a three-year-old
caked in sea-scum. Times like these I need December--
a hot toddy, fresh snow to cool my bed.
About the Author: Anastasia Stelse is a native of southeastern Wisconsin, a graduate of the MFA program at American University, and a graduate of the University of Southern Mississippi’s creative PhD program in the Center for Writers. She currently teaches at the University of South Florida. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Poet Lore, Sou’wester, Passages North, Fairy Tale Review, and Crab Orchard Review, among others.