August is a woman in the prime of her life
A proud radiant queen
Emboldened by the passionate sun
She dresses in the purple, red, orange, and gold
Of zinnias, marigolds, and gladiolas
That grow in gay profusion
She is abundant and generous
Fruits fall off the vine, or tree, or shrub
With a touch
She is indolent and hedonistic
Swaying in hammocks under shady trees
Dipping nude in mountain pools
She moves gracefully through her days
The neighbors yard is overgrown with blackberry brambles. They throw their tentacles, hung with clusters of voluptuous berries, juicy and sweet, over my fence. I stand in the morning sun and pick and eat as many as I want, until my fingers are purple and my arms are scratched from brushing against the thorny vines. It’s like being in love with the wrong person, going back, over and again for the sweetness, left bruised and torn.
Tomato plants, heavy with fruit ripen one at a time
Then by the handful, and then fill a bowl
Now to make tomato salad to be eaten with a loaf of bread
Or sauteed with garlic in olive oil and tossed with pasta and basil
Stressed from too much heat and not enough rain
The magnificent white oak drops green acorns
Give it water for fifteen minutes twice a week, Dr. Tree says
I caress its rough bark and whisper, I love you
A Paeon to Crickets
All night long you sing your song
Looking for love at the Cricket Bar and Lounge
Your melody lulls me to sleep
August, calescent and incandescent
Time to reap Earth’s abundance
Torrid, sultry Dog Days
Sunny outbursts
Scorch
Slowly, summer surrenders to fall
Hot days yield to cool nights
The sun sets earlier while twilight lingers
Vivid colors leisurely fade to dusk
And succumb to the deep blue of night
The Write Mind of a Lefthander 