Thursday, August 3, 2006

Breathing August


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Breathing August


Summer stole my breath,
poured it into a mug
and handed it back like coffee,
steaming - a fog falling
on a world turned upside down.

It is always August,
humid and bloated, grey-blue
coming and going and coming again.

It's wilted breezes, untied ribbons
tree bound kite strings
and long nights with nothing to do
but fight with trying to remember
and trying not to forget.

But most of all it's breathing,
the swirl of cream in my cup
and missing you.

4 comments:

  1. Lovely memories
    THis stanza particularly hit me:"It is always August,
    humid and bloated, grey-blue
    coming and going and coming again."

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  2. It's a very good poem, Erin. You have a real gift with imagery.

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  3. What is it with you and imagery, hon? This one is actually quite brilliant and more than just in a "I get it!" kind of way. I love it. Just love it.

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