The Dawning Of Summers Breeze
Poem By Stacy Lynn Mar
I sit atop a plush chair of Egyptian cotton
On the veranda, my legs thrown haphazardly
Atop the smooth, plastic table.
A vision for sore eyes, I am, the mediocrity of poetic.
I wrestle with my minds eye for the perfect prose,
The unforgettable first line of forget-me-nots,
Only, the sun is blinding me and my heart is too tired to speak.
I turn my eyes to spy a couple strolling along the sidewalk.
She, his blond princess in doo-wop curls and dainty giggles.
He bends his head at an awkward angle for one kiss,
I strain my own neck to catch the whiff of something forlorn…
True love, innocence, some lost vicar of truth. They are.
The scent of summers daffodils is suddenly over-whelming,
The bumble bees of warm weather transcend in their steady buzz.
Everything is suddenly colored, my world is alive, only
It’s not really my world. My world unfolds beneath a blue felt-tip pen.
I smile to myself, knowingly, in that mother-hen kind of way.
Come next summer their love will be dust dry, and he just another
Page of history in her journal of ‘has-beens.’ For a solemn moment
Of reflection I wish I could be like her. Then I scratch that thought.
No. I don’t want to be someones yesterday-love. I want to be more.
An unforgettable piece of unfinished art, an unfolding painting of perilous
Perfection in long locks of light brown and a pink smile of I-have-been-there.
I tilt my head into the hollow of my shoulder. I want only to be me, at ease.
The hush-hush of early-evenings first caressing breeze falls
Across my shoulders and stings my eyes, it rustles the tattered sheets of my notebook and blows open the pages of a book I’m reading. From the dog-eared pages of a vintage Anne Sexton collection, her words smile to me:
“My love, I am that girl.”