The Rake By Mary Lucina My neighbor raked half his lawn, stuffed the leaves in bags then decided to go south. Driving off he tooted, adding tenor to autumn. Rust hobbles like arthritis to the rake left behind. My neighbor stuffed his suitcases and went south, tooting as I raked. May dreams shade his hammock and the sea open its purses leaving pearls in the sand. I hope the leaf sliding into the mailbox with my letter isn’t delivered to him. Contributor’s Note: MARY LUCINA is a Sister of Mercy. She lives and works in South Buffalo. She has published two collections of poetry, “I Asked Hoping” (The Cummington Press, 1993) and “Guardians of Air” (Singular Speech Press, 1997).