With a name like Season, people are constantly asking me what, in fact, is my favorite season of the year.
Without fail, I say the mild seasons—autumn or spring.
When they ask about my least favorite season, I quickly jump in and say summer.
Why would I be so judgmental of a branch off of the tree of my own name?
Heat and sweat—of those, I am not a fan. In order to gain a new perspective, I took on this poem. It started as a response to a prompt from the Write Yourself Alive course that I help moderate. I think that each word is a brushstroke helping the onlooker to visualize the portrait of summer in a new way. While it is still harsh on summer, it paints a positive, optimistic picture of what could happen if Lady Summer smiled on me. As an ever-watchful romantic, I’m constantly in a state of waiting—wishing. In this piece, I use the imagery of summer to depict my personal wanton desire for him—my ever elusive “one.”
May you find your “one” in the places you never thought to look in the first place. May you find him or her in your hated season, at a time when you least expect it.
Beads of sweat
Run down my face
Trying to beat
The ensuing exhaustion.
The sun harasses me with her heat—
Her rays beckon me
To come and indulge:
The intoxicating smell of gardenias;
The blades of grass tickling my feet;
The wind whispering to me
While she runs through the tall trees;
The trickling stream teasing me
With promises of replenishment.
All of it—
The harsh sun,
They are meaningless without you.
Life is a lackluster portrait
None of it matters.
You add a vast array of color to my life portrait:
The pink blush of passion—
Green envy that has been tamed
By your empowering words—
Blue sadness that has been
Harnessed by your embrace—
The all-encompassing red—
The transformative love.
The sun still chases me,
You’re chasing me too.
Bonus: SoundCloud Link
Author: Season Faulk
Editor: Caitlin Oriel
Image: Jasmin Causevic/Unsplash
Read 0 comments and reply