Last year there were big full moons (all summer
from the back deck); August
was no exception. We began a cycle that
voyeurs, vagrants and tomato aficionados
missed out on. Guests
filled our house with odors of sizzling fish
frying in the pan, saffron and rosemary, yellow
corn with melted butter between our teeth
oozed down our chins. Drinks mixed in
tinkling glasses. Summer ended with a sigh and we rolled
into autumn with untypical fears of the future, questions
of what might come of us. Us. There
was uncertainty and not a lot of rain; we could never
locate a damn umbrella.
Winter
sunk her uncaring teeth into our ankles and
we were uprooted, tossed over like so many
unwanted used women, skirts in the air, grasping
for whatever we could hold onto, slipping away, greased
by old gripes about things that no longer
mattered. Spring was an illusion; filled with cigarette smoke,
bad breath and messy hair. The
trap
that turned into summer
was nothing like what we expected; sunshine
eluded us, not one day at the lake… for a walk
or a sleepy blanket spread out on the lawn, corners
all bunched and sandals lost in the disarray. We
wouldn’t have cared but our spirits were wounded, like
bird wings after an unnatural beating. This year
taught
we can put up with noises in the night, men
in bad shirts who give us a fright, not
knowing where the money went and giving in to
suitcase-dreams and ships that never reach the
shore. August
came and went twice while we waited for friends
to make a new acquaintance. We
waited for things to change. We waited for a miracle.
Thanks for reading........
