Autumn Birthdays

We are sober folk. Our starting place is the fall, when the sun is not half as strong as the warmth of our own underarms, the dead earnest of cold what we have always known best, touching our ears to our shoulders, our upper lips to our noses— rebuilding ourselves beneath annihilated trees, bending our heads as we pass, pressing on. Subscribe to The Recovering AcademicEssays, poems, interviews, and craft This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit joshuadolezal.substack.com/subscribe