Three Poems: Sweltering in Summer's Heat
The warm season starts out so fresh and promising only to wilt beneath the searing sun, melting us into inertia and filling our brains with crazed notions.
Maybe It's July
A malaise sets in on the first day of July As the smoky season starts and all the weeds Grow extra high and thick in the perfectly Landscaped garden I tackle every year. The afternoon zephyr brings the seeds Upon its breath to choke the lavendar And the daisies curl in death under the heat Like a calendar of fate that feeds my fear. I feel weaker as June's freshness disappears And the long days lag and flowers sag or die I tire of the effort it takes to hold back the tears I must have some disease that makes me cry. So I squeeze in to see the doctor, do the labs And tell my story of how my summer's hopes Dwindle to a dismal end. She checks the chart Hears my heart, and scribbles in her notes. Finally she declares in a tone That asks the question, why. "I see nothing wrong with you. Maybe it's just July."
Lavender Sky
There is a dusky haze That hangs over the mountains Playa dust says the daily news Drifting with monsoonal winds Over our fertile valley. As I try to discern Which playa would blow Its silty cloud westward We sit in the swing and enjoy The sunset with its lavender sky Shimmering elegantly Over the final brilliant glow. A few days go by And the malaise closes in My head sees the world through fog The body resists the temptation to rise Any suggestion of food repels me. Another few days pass in sleep Still little desire to eat and move A mysterious bruise on my wrist It all adds up to nothing It's been this way before. Just as spring folds Into the siege of summer heat Could it be the change of season As my doctor once surmised Or was there something evil In that luscious lavender sky?
July Malaise
This bowl of ice cream will kill me Not now, not quickly Like entering the freeway during rush hour Or a bite from a rattlesnake While trimming the Periwinkle But someday It will freeze in my blood Clogging my heart with its soft Sweet seduction upon my tongue. So many things will kill us. We are warned every single day Until all I want to do is close My eyes, plug my ears And not listen to anything. Not to the jays chattering in the garden Not to the cat purring in the laundry basket Not to the drone of my husband learning To speak Basque from a textbook. No, I don't want to hear Any voices in my head or that goddamned whisper That reminds me of dying And in doing all this, I am.
If you were moved by these poems, feel free to explore more poems, essays, and stories in the Ring Around the Basin Archive. Also, I love to read your comments, so please share your thoughts. Let’s start a conversation.
One of the best thing about summer is boosting one’s vitamin D levels through naked gardening to avoid coming down with rickets, but be prepared to discover that your friends refer to you as Old Rawhide behind your (naked) back, which is actually slighter better than rickets.
I love the delightful little bits of rhyme that unexpectedly pop into your July story. And, yes, so many things will kill us. I find it so tiresome, don't you? All the things we love will kill us. Not the kale, not the spinach, not the tofu or the 2% milk. They may prolong our lives, but who wants to live like that? It is not the length of a life that counts, if you ask me. It is the intensity and the joy one experiences!! Pass the Butter Pecan, please....