*

*
Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Friday, May 24, 2013

When Summer Belonged To Us

Unidentified Photographer, [Two unidentified girls, one eating watermelon, the other disrobing], ca. 1960 (2012.24.1) from Fans in a Flashbulb

When summer belonged to us,
we shot out of school doors like pinballs
pinging off trees, porches, each other,
racing toward imagined jackpots

We lay in the heat,
hair and freckles bleached with lemon juice
and tasted the tang on our skin

We shucked Silver Queen on front steps,
the silk sticking to our fingers
and stealing nibbles off the cobs

We grabbed thick slices of watermelon,
ate them down to the rind,
sweet juice dripping down our wrists,
then spitting the seeds
across crabapple dappled lawns

We set the pace of our days
to suit our moods
and lingered under street lights
well past dusk
Feigning deafness to the calls of parents,
we schemed our next scheme

There was always another tomorrow
when summer belonged to us.