Summertide

THE FUME

in these last days we step wildly

helming the mad dogs at our ankles

roiling, teeth snarled, ears flat,

bellies slinking along dusty ground toward

tomatoes in the garden, fat and ripe,

the peach tree bowed and green

we were girls once,

wrapping our lips 'round the skins of cherries,

fingers pushing strands of hair behind ears

or patting vinegar on sunburned knees         

our mouths bloodred and hungry,

always reaching for more and more and more

the memories of a summer,

this summer,

of yours and ours and mine

the shovel we used to bury the spaniel

reflecting the sun like a tiny ocean,

or the white lake where we held our breath and kissed

the burning of a heat seeming endless,

our honeyjar sticky and dazzling,

the arms of the chairs fierce and gleamed

but the geese overhead tell us otherwise

and we know more now than we ever will again

none of this is a wonder

the plums, the rings, the wine

but we marvel at the verdant grain

as we bend to the dogs asking

if the money made us cruel,

and the light is gold and breaking

beside the umber shed,

the neighbor’s baby is wailing

red fists clenched and tiny legs pumping,

the fever has broken,

a heliacal rising

nestled comfortably in the folds of time

Photos by my dear friend, the ever-amazing Stephanie Sunberg. This afternoon was a dream--a true afternoon delight.