Waiting for Summer's Flight

Summer's End by Marion Rose

I have sat here before

and watched the summer days

falter before my eyes

and have seen their short-spanned lives

suck the last sweet breath

from between the lips of the sky

as globes of sunlight

peach-orange and golden-yellow

crept upon rolling waves

one by one

And one by one

I took my breaths

swept life off her feet

and into my quickening lungs

and listened as my pulse rushed

silver inside my veins

while the cobalt-blue waters

watched me clasp my craving arms

around my singing bones

and tremble in summer-love’s orgasm

knowing

If I waited long enough

I would hear the copper wail of fall

coming from afar

stumbling upon its own feet

charging across the drought

of this glaring ground

tossing red and gold gifts

to whomever wished to receive

twining its throbbing legs

with the awaiting earth

Thrusting its fluttering arms

into all things far and wide

and today I sit

still and statuesque

tranquil and beautiful

open and serene

waiting for summer’s flight

to stretch itself

about my quivering silhouette

and touch me

one last time.

Deliverance

Photo, Sergeij Bizjaev

one day

one moment

so abruptly

so suddenly

(as suddenly as a wandering stranger

happens at your lit window

on the bleakest winter night)

there comes the need

to release the usual

the predictable

the normal

and embrace the unusual

the risky

the atypical

because

if you stop and give it

even a passing thought

the best way to break

that chastity belt

you call TRADITION

(because you are afraid

to call it DOGMA)

is to take the rusty key

you have hidden

in the darkest spot

of your musty spirit

(reeking

of centuries-old resignation)

and ram that key

inside the keyhole

and twist

like a motherfucker

twist

like you’ve never twisted before

delivering yourself

of the evil you call NORMALCY

(because you are afraid

to call it CONFORMITY)

and so today

i say:

My spirit does not resign.

My spirit blazes—

a tongue of flame

sparking crisp flares

that burn brightest

when the heart is dark.

Today is my day

for deliverance,

and I deliver myself!

Fight me.

I dare you!

Cast me out

for my sin

of not fitting in.

Cast me out

and leave me

to oblivion.

But know that

I will be the tempest

that disturbs quietude.

And know that

I will run counterclockwise

and dismantle time.

Because majority

does not equal sanity

and

Because now . . . is now

and later . . . is never.