June

18

What Happens in the Summer

I told them about the little beings I saw
But no one believed me.

They muttered,

If it’s not in the manual, existence can’t be
Acknowledged. No nonsense
Please.

Then running unbelieving fingers through
Thinning hair:
Summers breed wild imaginations
By the dozens.

I wish I could take those fingers
And press upon them the truth of how
The little beings squeezed out
Of my heart, sailed through the blood,
And floated out by the breath in my lungs.

Let them feel
For every one that drifted out
Of my mouth, I felt a little sadder.

You don’t have the right to forget,
They whispered,
Crawling on my skin like heavy
Cats. These summer nights
Are not for you.