Last Summer, I Felt Alive

Shake off your stiff bones;

Spring is singing to the tune of

frog bellies expanding

and cricket wings rubbing together .

…

Wake up!

There’s a spotted gray cat

perched on the windowsill—

waiting to be fed.

The sky is changing from

deep blue to violet.

A crimson rug is rolled out

over the balcony,

and damp clothes hang on the line.

I think about that summer all the time.

~

Downstairs,

a woman with clear quartz earrings

peels oranges,

filling the room with citrus esters.

Outside,

nearby pollinators sense

our sweet home.

I often see them pressed up

against the windows.

Across the street,

laughter leaks through open doors—

bathing the lane with

hopeful soundwaves.

A string guitar is playing somewhere

and people sway like grass in the wind.

You don’t mind the flies buzzing by,

like you do in late July.

Maybe because sunlight

after fresh rain

seeps like liquid gold from the horizon—

filling each river and lake with heat.

It’s like you’re seeing the world

for the first time in your life,

and you realize

evaporated water looks just like spirits.