Mulan Fireworks

10 PM on Saturday
October 22. October's almost gone--
I can't believe it.

I was cozied into my blue flannel,
that once belonged to Kay.
Brownies in the oven, batter splotches on my shorts, I sat
clicking at my Theatre History mid-term, books of Stanley Fish and Philip Zarelli filleted,
splayed, across the kitchen table.

October's almost gone.
This afternoon I was reading Isabel Allende
poolside in my two-piece and sweating slow
while my sister and father wore sweaters to purchase pumpkins
in rural Illinois.

October's almost gone. It's
my elementary school classmates in puffy Bulls jackets,
miniature Snickers bars, a Girl Scout overnight in Eagle Cave.
It's walking back from Marine Fisheries senior year
with a cup of hot chocolate in my hands. Nip nip
with fresh break-up wounds.
"My love for you feels like the fireworks at the end of Mulan,"
Kay told me when I had visited him seven months into our relationship,
and then POP BANG FIZZLE FIZZLE FIZZLE.

October's almost gone.
And then November will be.