July #1

So I got waay behind on last month's poems. Time to fix it by doing a lot this month.

1.
It seems I spend all of my months
waiting for summertime,
the golden summertime
that I love best.
It is in the heat of summer,
the blistering, smeating heat,
that I am finally warmed,
my lingering winter frosts melted
in the love and the glare
of the brightest sun.
I wait and yearn
for the summertime
when memories become edged in gold
and onlythen
do I feel perfection looming,
reaching for me.

May #21

Warm sun, cold winds -
let's get rid of those.
When will it be summer time?
Let's complain about the heat,
go for walks in shady parks
and have picnics
until the ants get in the food
and the grass isn't comfortable
and the ice melts into the lemonade.
Let's go fishing
at odds hours of the morning because
that's when my dad insists we'll catch fish.
(But we won't.)
Let's go out on evenings,
let me dress up in summer dresses,
catch fireflies and trip
over high heels.
Get rid of long pants,
hoodies,
sneakers.
I want barefeet or sandals
swimsuits and tanktops,
summer skirts swaying as I walk.
When will summer come?

March #14 (Good News Bears!)

I'm glad for you, boy.
You're growing up.
I have known you through
what may have been
the four most awkward years of your life -
because after all,
high school
is pretty fucking awkward
for all of us.

I remember a few summers ago
when we
stayed up all night running up our text bills
talking to each other
in living warm nights.

You asked me out,
and I
had no interest
but you were graceful
even then
maybe used to it?
and took it well.

Now you forge ahead
again
but this time
with more favorable prospects
and your usual cynical mood
has been blown away to reveal
what you used to be,

the hopeful, happy,
funny, untainted boy
that I value.

Let hope thrive, boy. Let it feed you.