Summer

by Imogen Claire
Summer Imogen is a writer in Brooklyn who is obsessed with cats.

“The sweet flavor / Bursts in my mouth / As the sticky juice / Runs down my chin / And falls on my lap / Oh the clothes / That have been stained forever / By the chaotic season / That is summer”

 

The sweet flavor

Bursts in my mouth

As the sticky juice

Runs down my chin

And falls on my lap

Oh the clothes

That have been stained forever

By the chaotic season

That is summer

 

My feet burn as they slide

Along the grainy earth

And they shiver as the water

Laps at my toes

My bathing suit leaves

Pale lines across my skin

In contrast

To the burning red

That sears my back

The umbrella flutters in the breeze

And the blanket

Weighed down by bags

Yearns to fly away

And be free

 

The tiny pieces of rock

Clump in shapes

Moldable

Expendable

Millions and billions

Flying through the air

Burrowing

Into sandals

And shirts

And swimsuits

And everything

They can form

Castles

Or pits

Or cottages

They can make treats

Rolls

And eclairs

And truffles

Then they collapse and wash away

Leaving endless straights

Full of tiny grains

 

Gardens blossom

And fade

Violets and lilies

Turning brown and cracked

Edges curling with heat

Bees chatter and buzz

Collecting and conversing

Bushes full of activity

The air hangs heavy

With beads of water

 

Love grows wide

Opening

Unfurling

Stretching its wings

To touch the sky

Watch it fly overhead

Listen to its sweet cry

Dancing through your ears

You cannot help but listen

Clutch your loved ones closer

And enjoy the beauty

Of the feathers

That adorn the bird of love

 

Friendship, too

Swells in the heat

Children walk

Hand in hand

A mouthful shared by two

Laughs fill the sky

They flit through the breeze

Following

The soaring creature

Of passion

 

Bumps rise

On my legs and arms

Begging to be relieved

I try to resist

But in the end

Who can fight pleasure?

The mosquito flies

Unseen

A trickster

Laughing at us fools

 

Time flows sluggishly

Churning and

Rewinding

Chugging along

Day

After day

Hour

After hour

Minute

After minute

Second

After second

 

The next year looms

Above it all

Exciting

Yet Menacing

Sometimes forgotten

Pushed away

In an effort to enjoy

The little time you have

Futile,

Even though the time

Ticks by

So

Very

Slowly

The day will come

When you must return

To work and hardship

And months

Of relaxation

And rehabilitation

Will come to an end

 

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