open to the possibilities of a summer fling- something to get me through the days.
The first cut of fresh grass,
its scent, that comes with itchy eyes and hayfever.
The bugs flying idle—
grazing above it.
I felt my heart lurch a few weeks back
when I heard the cuckoo for the first time again.
And now I sit amidst twittering birds,
all calling to one another,
flying from blooming branch to branch.
Yet summer comes with its scarcities for me—
reminders of days indoors,
long and unending.
Spring has come, and I’m worried again
I’ll find myself on the brink of a depressive spiral—
and, unbeknownst to myself,
I’m rolling up my jeans,
almost hoping the cold will shock
me back to myself again.
I’ll slip back in,
and the seaweed will tickle the sole of my foot—
uncertain and terrifying,
natural and homey,
all at the same time.
Spring has sprung.
I hope it takes me to summer softly.
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