Three Poems by Lauren Dodge

Autumn, Part I

A Golden Shovel after Nora Ephron’s  “You’ve Got Mail”

Midnight, the bed in Milan, you and I 

Still in our shoes would 

Share a panino, open the window, send 

Every emotion through my surface, you 

Longed for a 

Walk home; and I, a bouquet 

Of ripening forsythia blossoms, of 

My body’s less tempered bloom, newly 

Attended to, made, sharpened,  

Precious and yellow as pencils.

Autumn, Part II

A Golden Shovel after Nora Ephron’s  “You’ve Got Mail”

It’s the third Sunday of the month. Streets puddled. I 

Go to the antique market, eyes closed, allow the ether to lead 

Me past each booth- Mossy lambskin rugs. A 

Marble altar of world war bayonets. A small 

Exaltation of glass chandelier beads. Life-

Times of leather bound books- the last rites of yellowed leaves. A well

of stale rain, or red wine, or holy oil, whatever valuable

Potion they’ll use to rebirth, consecrate, transform. But

I’m all grown now. The shopkeeper places coins in my small

Hands;  they’ll carry a sterling spoon home and

Polish it and use it to stir my coffee and sometimes

Polish it again. It’s the flavor of chalky tarnish I

Prefer now, a layer of new copper brimming with wonder.

Autumn, Part III

A Golden Shovel after Nora Ephron’s  “You’ve Got Mail”

I am the locust on the potted shrub, and you 

The flurry that stirs; my home and I are 

Drawn above the cobblestones with each heave, and a 

Clean window now frames your eager face. My lone 

Grasshopper mother nibbled common reed, 

But not I, for I am on the terrace standing 

Orange thighs on iron, olive tree fruited tall

And silver; seeds bursting berried fern arms waving. 

I am barren but I am free and aging, boldly.

Lauren Dodge (she/her) is an emerging poet from Indianapolis, Indiana, who recently moved to Italy with her husband and two poodles. Her work will be published in the November 2024 issue of Stone Poetry Quarterly.  She loves walking in the Tuscan hills, drinking cappucinos, and attempting to learn Italian.