The World Under The Summer Sun

Every day, by the pond next to the border
Oak trees and overgrown hedges at the
Far end of a farmer’s corn field, on a
Deck almost as liquid as the water below,
She and I would lay back staring upwards
Without speaking for hours on end until
The afternoon locusts calmed and the
Crickets awoke when the sun set in the
Late-August sky and she would have to
Run home with no time to put on her
Worn and dried-muddy sneakers,
Remarking hurriedly how her parents
Wondered why she always ran barefoot.

I would find her the following summer
On the deck by the pond in mid-June
Kicking off her new but dried-muddy
Sneakers as morning gasped for one final
Breath and I would lay down the bag I
Had brought filled with Oreos and
Potato chips and soda pop and
Pixie sticks and she would ask what took
So long and I would answer with a
Sigh – how I had woken up late and
Couldn’t get away before finishing my
Chores and she would just smile.

When we’d finished conveying the
Nothings of winter’s worth, that school
And everything else were the same as
The year before we would lay back and
Watch as the unremarkable puffs and
Bland whisps of clouds passed over while
Finches flew about and dragonflies
Buzzed nearby and we both believed we owned The world under the summer sun.

Original concept
10 December 2005

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