End of Summer Thirst

everything I’ve wanted to say
swallowed whole and spit out like a seed
from a grape / part of a cluster
in a bag that reads
Seedless California Table Grapes
I don’t understand / she shouldn’t have
turned the water to wine
should have walked on it first / stomped on it
like Lucy in that episode in Italy
my father despised her / never knew why
they swab both my palms
chosen randomly
to keep up appearances we are safe
from ourselves
from the invisible weapons
we hold open in our hands
I hear a woman speak against
jargon / her body reeks of it
with each noisy gesture
somewhere in a Midwestern past
musicians ignite a barn
with their gloriously unholy sound / I genuflect
to remember that brief reprieve
from darkness that would spread
inside my chest
and rumble in my ear
a dinosaur disturbed
from its sleep
flying over Nebraska
the light dims slightly
with another roll of turbulence
I recognize the throat
knotting / another good-bye
to another moment
it almost rains in California / almost

2 thoughts on “End of Summer Thirst

  1. I enjoyed your poem. Being a true summer person, I am always a bit sad when it ends. If your father didn’t like Lucy, perhaps he was one of those who listened to Sen. Joseph McCarthy who decided that Lucy was a communist based on the fact that she married Ricky who was Cuban. Of course a lot of celebrities, writers, artists were blacklisted in that era…

    Liked by 1 person

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