Elegy for Summer

june.
Only the third inning
and I was already squinting,
the sun in my eyes, legs stuck to bleachers,
my fingers pulling the matted fur of a

spaniel belonging to my brother’s teammate’s mother.
The ball whipped through the air,
and I saw her not-yet rare smile bloom,
even in the heat.


july.
You had nothing to worry about.
You were always better
at skipping stones.

They were our every whims:
bare feet against searing pavement
and sharp gravel, fireworks over the lake,
a balancing act on our shared inner tube, and
your brilliant plans that never ran out.

Your lake house had a pulse,
a thud of well water within the walls that
never masks the sound of screaming college boys
and their naked bodies hitting the water every night.
My mattress creaked and tilted
as you crawled over me, head out the open window,
giggling behind your hand.

I closed my eyes and wished for thunder.


august.
I only swam once,
but I kicked the barnacles against the dock.
Alone in the water,
I sidestroked to the shore
covered in crabs and glass.