Creek Kid
It can be easy to forget
how delightfully wild the world can be.
I have to walk back down the road,
feet bare and dirty,
warm on the sun-baked asphalt.
I have to pluck a honeysuckle blossom
open it up
let its single drop of sweetness fall on my tongue.
I let the creek kid out to wander
after it rains to visit the snails and slugs and worms.
She has to feel them on her fingers.
She has to lift up rocks in search of
salamanders and crawdads. Slimy things,
hard to hold on to. But she will try.
I have to let her
before they wriggle away.
Before we put our shoes back on.
Falling in Love with Spring
Spring has never courted me like this before.
Maybe it’s compensation for a cruel winter.
A welcome reward for all this rain.
Either way, every new blossom is note-worthy.
I take a picture of the dogwoods
and send it to my mom.
I marvel at how mother nature invented technicolor.
Already I feel it slipping out of reach,
merely a prelude to summer’s main event.
But right now pink bengal roses
come alive in the front yard
just for me, a lovely gesture.
I sit in the park with friends
sharing brie and sunlight
and I feel it.
As the earth becomes new, so do I.
The Song of the Cicada
The song of the cicada is not a pretty one.
Much like the bug itself
with blood red eyes and spiny legs.
Grating to the senses.
It bumbles through the air
facing head on collisions.
But wouldn’t you too,
if you grew up underground,
released into this world at the tender age of seventeen?
An insect rumspringa. With so little time
wouldn’t you fly feverishly
screaming
begging to be loved?
A Three Part Guide to a Southern Summer
June eases you in
with slow mornings and sweet berries.
You see an old friend.
Make a new one.
Let the sun kiss you goodnight on both cheeks
as you lie, eyes closed, in her lingering warmth.
July burns and stings and
knocks the wind out of you.
Save time for dancing
in the sticky heat. Kiss in the dark.
Cry in public.
Stagger out exhausted,
skin bug bitten and bruised.
When the air congeals
in August eat nectarines
while there is still time for juice to run
down your fingers and drip off your elbow.
Rediscover singing
in the shower. Say goodbye
to a lover. Make the pilgrimage home.
Return when it finally starts to cool down.
