These days of sun and languor
where a cool breeze brings a
clash with Mother Nature,
interrupting what she’s busy
cooking up, with a clash of
pots and pans her face like
a thunderclap she shouts
from the threshold, letting an
oven blast unleash from
the open door
This time of cats in pools of
light from the blazing window
and dogs smiling in the
shade, tongues lolling, lapping
noisily at water bowls like
ripple waves at the lake,
boat wake tickle-lapping at
the wooden legs of the dock
This beating heart of the year,
a day when day wins
overtaking the night in a
moment of triumph,
everything vibrating in its
full luscious glory, trembling
at its peak, the bask of
vacation in the glow of
fulfillment, desire winking and
beaconing from beneath the
trees at twilight, when it
sneaks in on sunset’s coattails
and the stars shine with
special brightness, knowing
their reign is fleeting for now
but still sister Moon will pull
everything along in its season
and the clock will wrap it
all in a pretty shining bow
until the days of August
arrive, fresh from the kitchen,
fat and tall-layered,
iced and candle-bedecked,
ready to be sliced and
devoured, while the bees make
their liquor and the melons
ripen, while the tractors
tune up for the harvest, and
crickets awaken, ready to
greet another sweet September night.
I’ve been reading some Whitman, and I’ve been experiencing a HOT summer. Thanks for reading, y’all!
The Poetry Patio 