June 23, 2010

summer summer summer

and even the landlocked highway I took to work

became a ferry crossing, a carnival attraction, a moving picnic

of a ride. I want to remember this stretch of road,

the broccoli trees, the bright yellow of the call boxes, the light load

my body made of the miles. I want to remember the sun, hot on my arm

as I leaned against the open window, and the wind’s tease and charm,

how it turned my hair into a hay-barn tousle. I want the ice-cream

scoop of this day to slide along my tongue in a slow sweetness, for every dream

to stay aloft in a perfect balloon. I want my heart rosy as a newcomer,

and every hope and healing humming with this song: “Summer, summer, summer.”