Kneeling in the Autumn Garden

[ellajam]

Kneeling in the Autumn Garden
Something in my chest that smells like my heart
twists and slides quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves
that lie still over the red stones.

Something in the air that smells like a cold hearth
sinks and pools idly
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the durable stones
that lie unburied on the steady ground.

I reach out my hand but do not touch
close to the chill earth
over the place where no warm rustle was;
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the heavy leaves
that lie absently on the enduring stones.

I bow my head but not to the weight of pain
downward to the unseen track beneath the leaves
downward to the unfelt rustle of warmth
downward to the unburied patience of the stones
and feel the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth.
Leah S.

Revision 1:
Something in my chest, that smells like my raw heart,
(OR) tastes like my old tears, (Pick one?)
twists and slides quietly
under the fallen leaves;
under the aspen leaves, the cherry leaves, the apple leaves,
that lie still over the red stones.

Something in the air, that smells like a cold hearth,
sinks and pools idly
between the  waiting stones;
between the patient stones, the stubborn stones, the constant stones,
that lie unburied on the steady ground.

I reach out my hand, but do not touch,
close to the chill earth;
over the place where no warm rustle is;
over the lost leaves, the gold leaves, the heavy leaves,
that lie unmoved on the enduring stones.

I bow my head, but not to the weight of pain,
downward to the unseen track beneath the leaves,
downward to the unfelt rustle of warmth,
downward to the unburied patience of the stones,
and feel the cold and stubborn kindness of the turning earth.

Hi, Leah, a few notes:

S1
L1:  I prefer the original, stopped me and made me think of what a heart smells like. Rejecting blood, I moved to the emotional heart which can indeed have a scent and I considered what the narrater's might be. The edit moves me back to blood, is that what you mean to do?

L2: I like slides, I've got a wormy feeling here that persists throughout the poem.

S2
L1: I like the smell of a cold hearth, it's a nice repeat and contrast of scent, dry and empty.
L2: I like pools, I don't need idly.
L5: Not a fan of steady.

S3:
L1: I iike the hand hovering.
L5: I don't find "enduring" adds anything to stone.

S4:
Does its job beautifully except for turning earth, which is a bit of a cliche; although it says the right thing it does not strike me as up to the rest of the poem.

I enjoy where this poem takes me, I think it hits its target. Thanks for posting it.