the arms of summer
the late summer rest, do you feel it, too? a small peace after days of broiling heat, outdoor plants crispy from the sun, birds and squirrels hibernating from the intensity of June July August days. and now a respite, an almost unnoticeable tinkling pause in the rush to bloom and expand, in the sling of summer's ease before her eventual fade into autumn. it feels too ethereal, too beautiful, shameful to draw out with words, but there is an unmistakable finger on the lips. the ball caught in mid-air before its descent. a pendulum at its peak before the return. that one moment. that one. that one. that one. this is time best described by memory as poignant longing. years ago when i, belly swollen and tight, loose sundress, August in Portland, hung tiny tie-dyed onesies on the line to dry in anticipation of my baby girl, Alma. later, i ingested trillium and castor oil, walking endless trips, rocking my baby down. but no baby. i watched the sun bend back ov...
