summer in your house the morning light poured in spilling on the chenille like warm milk dishes clattering in the kitchen as you made breakfast
the heat stifles flowers wilt fruit ripens (as do I) August is approaching
I think about those days of barefeet, scraped knees, sunburns, mosquito bites and garden dirt…
with the fear of stagnation she became a shapeshifter
there were those hot sticky nights picnics by flashlight on the dewey grass waiting for the fireworks we chased fireflies
