The Summer Of

It’s the summer of sesame seeds, the summer of the smaller fridge,

of fruit next to veggies, of adventure next to quiet, of the new job and

heartache, of letting go because holding tight isn’t even an option.

It’s the summer of the old friend who says he’s glad life is going well.

Life is going well and I dream of nursing children who aren’t mine

of being someone I’m not, someone back there while I am up here:



Turning into a new version of myself. They say women grow a belly

around age 50. I am more pear-like and less rigid.

I don’t care when the children make a mess of the children’s section

at the bookstore. I can’t fathom rage at kids who place their lips on the pages.

I can’t begin to judge the dad who is so happy to be creating adventure

on a Saturday.


We are all making it up as we go along. I’m learning to play guitar

amazed my fingers learn how to stretch into new shapes.

I am a new shape.

I am a pear.

I am a woman

letting go

who can see

her pregnant self

walking through the August grasses

as I walk through the August grasses

the tears make creases

on my face.

We are walking new paths

making it all up

as the babies mouth the books

and the newish dad swells with pride.

I place the books back in their places.

I’ve lost all judgment

glad for the man

20 years beyond me

who tells me jokes

as  I ring up his sale.

There is no conclusion.

There is the smaller fridge

that holds the blueberries

that I must eat today.



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