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AUGUST
Private Notes
Private Notes
Notes
The trees stand still
And the night takes on a stolid pout.
The clouds don’t rain steam upon the ground
They hoard their water
Misers with buried gold
There are no murmurs
Only whirs of fans
Rotating their blades
Around
And around
And around
Every rotation more labored
Every spin
Slows
Down.
Moving the stagnant water caught in air drops
From left to right
And back again.
Houses sweat and heave
Paint strips
Peeling back
From wood
Opening their shirts with creaking groans.
Begging for a quick release
Instead of a slow surrender
To days yellow dogs only pant
And smaller animals can be bold.
Shirts stick like wet swimsuits
Sidewalks shimmer
And the asphalt waves
Making all the abandoned playgrounds
Look like salt flats
That melt rubber tires into
Pools of gummy tar.
These are the days of no-tongued speech
And porches that creak.
Comments
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Awesome poem Zoe! You transmitted that summer heat very well. Thanks for sharing!
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I'm not sure where you're from, but you sure have captured the way summer feels in NC. The humidity is so thick in the air here! Lovely poem!
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Thank you! August humidity seems to be universal wherever you’re from, but can imagine it’s on steroids in NC!
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Making all the abandoned playgroundsLook like salt flats
Oh, I like that. Very poetic!-
Thank you!
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Thank you!