"We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike." ~Maya Angelou

Saturday, August 19, 2017

Poem: August's Lament





















We are neck deep in summer:
the air heavy with heat,
Morning Glory, scaling
every wall and trellis,
locusts' call and response
from the high branches.

In wanting the heat gone
I am not wishing for Fall,
not hurrying toward Winter,
god no, all that shivering
inside of jackets, cold hands
around hot cups of tea.

No, but I would love to
wander the woods without
the whine of mosquitoes,
without this draining heat,
without stopping too soon,
retreating inside to cooler air.

A ten degree drop is all I ask
so that the air is cooler
than my body's own heat,
that would be enough,
that, a cool east wind,
and no spiders in my hair.



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