Maylene

14

Not unlike a ghost, just a breeze,
a haze or a blur,
the moment blew past everything,
as would a word that had escaped the mouth,
but, if only for a second, I
had held that word in my hands,
cupping it in like summer fireflies.

The sun, a scarlet plate,
threw around its infectious gown, a welcomed plague,
that poisoned the clouds into pink or orange or purple,
which dyed my bare arms, legs, face orange,
as I dangled my legs in the pond--
the ultimate doppelganger, adopting as its own face,
the face of the sky,
and the heat, the humidity, the flies:
all the eyes and mouths and skin of summer.

The moment passed, and now I look down,
seeing the pond reflect me,
and tell me the words I
already know, have known,
but never really felt;
but now, in my other self under the pond, I
breathe them in like bubbles,
in rhythm:
Summer, summer, not around you,
but inside you.