The Winter Leaves

By Zubaida Ifshan

The gardener sweeps the winter leaves

I never saw a leaf until it formed a pile.

My mother asks me- if I want a peach?

I scream!

She slithers into the leaves.

The garden sheds its skin into the skin of peach.

The gardener burns the winter leaves,

it’s smoke rises into the scent of peach.

By Zubaida Ifshan