Is not talking about the weather 
the most trite and still regularly practiced exercise of socialization?  
I don’t mind it, really;
in a way, it’s an offering across whatever miles of identity and experience separate us
       I can smile at anyone and say, “Hot enough for you?”
       knowing it will be returned by some form 
       of conversational connection.

I’ve actively worked
to overcome my annual despondence at the hands of the heat, the humidity, and so on.
People think it’s because I grew up in the Snow Belt…
       …that one’s constitution just can’t handle summer when it lasts a mere two months, 
       if we were lucky.
But that’s not why. 
It’s the summer itself
that defeats me
the constant demand to GO! SHINE! BE BRIGHTLY ALIVE!
the expectation that all of the buzzy seasonal energy is rejuvenating and exhilarating
the calendar overfilled with obligatory “now or never” meet-ups and outings
When all I want to do is curl into the leafy shadow of the oak trees
close my eyes
and wait for the fireflies

At my desk, I eat green beans from the can
to keep myself from devouring
items that jack up my BGL and A1C.
The night of the bombs, I ate
half a bag of cheap ($1.99) Kroger pretzels
with Pace Nacho cheese dip – mild
and a huge Cosmic Crisp™ apple.  

Binge continued:  
A friend left me some chocolate and peanut butter Rice Krispy Treats™ —
I don’t even like them. Two went down with ease.
So much for the re-gifting.  

At 3 a.m., a Kellog Chocolate Peanut Butter Protein Meal Bar™
            (12g of protein relieved my conscience)
and a dose of Methocarbanol™
wrapped their comforting arms around me.            

                            Finally

                                            I slept.

First, let the person you love know when you’ve seen the first lightning bug of the year. Alert her so you may have the chance to charm her and watch as it lifts off your arm while you are grilling dinner.

People pass through me
like a fog with no substance.
Their eyes slip off my edges
as if I were fluid
a fault in the fabric.
I sit in plain sight
not hidden, not concealed
but disregarded,
as though my presence
is an inconvenience to acknowledge.
But I am not a ghost.
I breathe. I take space.
And one day,
they’ll have to look.

It hurts to observe when life is teaching you, 
lessons you’ve been ignoring for years.
We kept ghasping for air while we choked.
In shallow cold waters of anxity, fear,
and other distractions along the way. 

She does not see you the way I see you. 
He doesn’t hug me the way you hug me. 
She cannot love you the way I can. 
And none of those guys, smelled the way you did. 

No lectures can last forever. 
Despite my expectations we graduated with top grades, 
and a bright future in front of our feet. 

It’s a great gift from God,
when you get that one thing you dream of,
and thought would never happen. 

Tomatoes for salsa
Beans for the freezer
Garlic for everything
Roses for the table
Sunflowers to plant with the grandsons
Lilies to bloom on Father’s birthday
Currants to root me to Germany
Poppies to fix my husband’s frown
Lavender’s dew-spangled scent for all of us
Honeyed birdsong looking for love
Breeze’s breath to rake away clouds
Three generations of hands sifting soil
    sown with child-smiles bright as marigolds
Little ones squealing with fistfuls of worms
    begging kisses to heal bee stings and more
A row of poems, both prickly and plush
    longing to be clothed in petrichor’s quiet hymn
Time’s suspension jumpstarted by grill’s sizzle
    beckoning sun’s see-you-tomorrow wink
    from behind the windbreak

Pots of red 
geraniums dress
the balcony in
dark blue glaze,
clustered petals dance
reach up
invoking peace,
ruffled leaves
satin green
twined in artful arabesque
summer benediction. 

Amish girls in pastel dresses,
like pale pink and blue hibiscus,
wear white bonnets 
and flip flops,
carry brushes
in buckets.

I wallk behind them
in silence near turrets
and wraparound porches
listening for whispers 
of last-century lectures,
melodies from past concerts
hidden under
the hostas and zinnias.

I’m not sure why they hold
my attention. Their freshness?
An air of private camaraderie?
Such modesty amid our shorts
and sundresses.

I wonder about their leaving–
corn fields and chickens
with no chaperones
for day work in Eden?

They don’t attend lectures
or concerts in the village
of abundance.  They may feel
like black-eyed susans,
stretched toward an unfamiliar sun.

We exchange nods.  Before
I can ask a question, 
one girl makes a covert move–
drops a cigarette,
crushes it in ground cover.

The hours unresolved
appear in my dreams unsolved
as long walks to nowhere.