everything feels
both more and less real
in summertime.
the sky is a mindless,
soaring,
neverending
ocean of blue;
not a cloud in sight-
the birds who fly them like kites
having gone off someplace else.
the air is warm
it feels like your body
is the inside of a candlewick
hot wax and hotter fire
melting down your sides.
you think about how you would feel right now
ten years ago.
wide eyes excited,
staring into that endless
painting of blue
tracing shapes from the contrails
carved haphazardly into the canvas
or perhaps running through the sprinklers
in your neighbor's yard,
pearlescent drops clinging to your skin
the feel of water pooled in the bottoms of your flip-flops
squishy and exciting
anything to relieve you of the scorching heat
hanging in the air like a garden spider in its web.
you pass by those same sprinklers now,
on your way to work-
watching a new generation mimic your same actions
from so long ago.
and something about this
feels lonely;
perhaps you should have enjoyed yourself more
all of that time ago.
things feel
less and less free
with each second of summer.
you try to think more about
finding a second job to pay rent next month,
the funny noise your car makes when you start it
anything
but the way you felt in summertime
ten years ago.
JE LEEST
the archives - a poetry portfolio
PoëzieA light buzzing distracts you from whatever you're doing. There is an old, weathered monitor on a table next to you. You could have sworn that it had just *appeared* out of thin air. Out of curiosity, you stare at it for a moment. The screen flicke...
