August 31, 2020

Summer’s Ends. {Poem}


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The ice bag spilled in the garage

Like precious cubed diamonds

From the rains on Jupiter

While trying to feed the broken ice maker in the house.

Last night there was a Mockingbird, still young,

Straining in its training

Trying to mimic the ballast of neighbourhood fireworks.

And there was the call of the Owl

For all to be quiet in the woods.

To be quiet in the woods

While the wide world went wild.

The windows fog

As the hot breath of Summer

Breathes upon our cool, hidden inside.

Our house is a spaceship in time,

Our couch is a boat that floats on lava with sails made of cartoons,

My rocking chair a stallion craving sleep

And the cicadas sing like so many poems of my past

Connecting me to so many childhood summers so, so long ago.

The spilled ice became tiny dark pools that flash

My fractured reflection as I walk by,

Circling the interior of our home again while my daughters sleep.

Little portions of me drying slowly on the ground, like so many versions of my past.

I patrol the house, figure eights for safety

For blessings, for comfort,

Lost in thought, lost in time, lost in memories

Of chasing those trailing kite lines in the sand

Connecting me once again to those Summer’s ends

So, so long ago.


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