The Soundtrack Of Summer

Another's voice on the phone every night,

a cat purring through the speaker,

screen door squeaking on a stale Virginia evening.

The roar of cicadas; the silence of the foyer,

a calm before the roll of thunder, a crack of lighting.

She learns to live with the new lemon-Lysol scent,

misses the mess, misses being the mess,

misses her mother's roasted vegetables -

parsnips, carrots, red onion.

Summer child, pollen powdered on toddler fingers,

like dusted cinnamon on steaming, sticky rolls.

She let's nostalgia waft out her new window,

a big girls apartment in a glistening city,

the stench of sewers and sweat invade.

What was is far fresher than what is.