Beginning of the End of Summer
These September highs are lower
than the lows of August.
She’ll be back, Summer,
before the weather finally cools,
but the object lesson that the heat
can abate fills me with hope.
filled by the first rains of fall,
the creek sings after summer silence,
The bank’s lanky thighs,
bared by heat and drought,
robbed of all modesty,
are now demurely covered
by the rising water.
Mighty clumps of bushy bluestem wave
heavy strawberry blond heads.
Pink love grass, gently caressed by the wind,
kisses the cheeks of the prairie,
Copper canyon daisies, Mexican mint marigold
burst open their blazing yellow blooms,
joyful explosions on autumn’s apron.
I desperately need to cut my fingernails.
Perplexity of Memory
The arid Texas sun
is merciless.
The air conditioner
has stuttered and died.
Water from the cold tap
runs warm.
By four pm I have shed my clothes
in favor of a cotton mumu. I sit
both under a ceiling fan
and in front of a box fan.
By six pm
my scalp is drenched,
the cotton cloth sticks to me.
My brother reminds me
that the house we grew up in
had no air conditioning.
We remember playing outside
all day –
freeze tag,
hide ‘n seek,
capture the flag.
We remember
putting chewing gum on asphalt to see it melt.
We remember
walking downtown on hot summer afternoons
to the library or for an ice cream cone.
We remember
riding our bikes all over town.
We remember
prancing barefoot across the black top street
to play with our neighbors.
But we don’t remember
ever being hot.