A Poem for Summer
When summer
comes
tomatoes gather on the counter
and crown thick slabs of toast.
My feet walk across scorched cement
absorbing energy
I bend and reach for the long snake.
A conduit of life for the wilting leaves
I turn on the water and the hose spews forth
relief.
When summer
comes
my mind melts with the rest of the flowers.
My focus flees
my appetite goes on vacation.
I delight in cups of cold blueberries
and hot coffee:
trying to welcome the heat of the day and obey the heat of the clock.
When summer
comes
I am grateful for the sun’s nearness
and barbecued pizza divided under a smudge of stars
and midnight blue skies.
And orange or yellow butterflies.
And time is one of those ambiguous things,
a welcomed friend who carries with them the promise of seasons
a talker who won’t slow their speech, rushing on and on
a beloved who goes too soon
a guest who brings tortilla soup and some tomatoes from her raised bed
and who leaves before the night turns to morning.