The consequences of summer are visible
in berry-stained skin, sweat-soaked shirts, crimson-streaked skies,
unintended tan lines,
and heaping promises baked into fruit pies
that will burn the taste buds right off your tongue if you aren’t
a little bit patient.
The humid somnolence invades all corners
until even the crickets are too hot to sing.
My request to you: Woo me steadily with slow words
because movement is best
attenuated
under heavy skies.
Talk to me while
tall grasses sway before storm clouds chase
us under cover – there is threat or promise in the distant rumble.
There are speedier seasons to follow but for now
I am content to let the cut flowers age in their vase and browning water,
their scent still rich, if slightly souring.
I’ll discard them only when
the petals
fall.
caroline ridgway 