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mostly the pumpkins

mostly the pumpkins
are gathered
beneath the farm market awning
but out in the field, still
a few dozen huddle together
mud on their thick orange flanks
They move in close,
tell each other stories
through the rainy afternoons
and the long dark
as frost creeps close
they wait for what comes next—
a hollowing and a swift flare of light
or slow collapse into this field
In some of the stories, but not all
there are seeds
and luck
and a fresh crop come spring

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