An ode to summer,

Which I’ve never done,

Since it usually feels like the heat drags on 

Until it’s dried me up.


But this year, 

After a true spring—

After a season of hopefulness put back to sleep

Again and again with an unforeseen


Or the tease

Of endless rains, watering thirst 

Beyond need to burst

And watching for colors and waiting for smells

To explode and signal

Something new—

Now that all that has passed

And the sun is here to stay,

And the green is enduring,

And everything is illuminated in unmistakable, longstanding light,

I’ve felt my heart shift to what others have sung songs of.


I see it for what it really is:

Not a season,

It’s a feeling.


I bask in thick, sweaty nostalgia

While the sun bakes me

And the earth


I relish the salt and the dew

On my skin

And admire the tan lines on my daughters’ feet

While I think of those summer love songs,

And feel bound to humanity,

Wondering what springs those poets endured

Thinking the winter had ended 

But there was still so much time

To wait.