Cicadas
grind out
Their
peculiar symphony
In the
late afternoon haze
A
comforting baseline of waning summer
The fat
lady singing
Summer’s
swan song
Lush green
lawns brown out
Like new
toys tired of and abandoned
Leggy
patio plants sapped with heat
Hang on
despite an inconsiderate supply of water
The
promise in their soft, velvety purple and red blooms
A
lipsticked smile
Suffused
with brittle bones of wilt
While the
hostas, good little campers they are,
Multiply,
unfolding greenish-blue leaves
In tight,
invasive bunches
With heavy
bulbous lavender pods
Rising on
taut ropy stalks triumphant
And it’s
August 5th again
And I see
your face
Equally
triumphant
Though
cold and gray
Above the
sheet thoughtfully folded
And
smoothed by a nurse
Who has no
idea
How hard
you tried
Or how
much I needed to see
Your
victory
--Katherine M. Searle
August 2007
Back
