Summer, and we’re all legs and elbows
skin the shade of sarsaparilla
wild and rough as mustangs
on the bright cusp of July
none of us yet
driving
so
the boys
pedal bikes and
we are light as cirrus
perched upon handlebars
like tousled blonde ornaments
fueled by youth and leaving trails
of laughter as we weave our way to the lake
where the wooden raft bobs on shimmering water
slapped by sharp waves and how we
leap like acrobats from the edge
to deep green cold below
come up again for air
beneath dripping
slats in shadow
where your
eyes
are wide
in early surprise
the shade of Hydrilla
finding mine and finding me
where we tread water effortless
as mallards and I never will forget it
your lips warm as cinnamon in the kiss
the private stolen kiss beside the creaking
joists, the scent of lake weed, breathless, detonating.
*Sorry if you’ve already seen these poems. I’m just trying to upload a few.
It took me a few reads to actually read the poem because I was so enwrapped in the sound of your words that I had to calm down to read what they were saying. This is only a slight exaggeration. What a beautifully crafted poem on all counts.
Once I put a leash on my infatuation with the sonics I let them carry me into a scene. “breathless, detonating”. Just a wonderful poem on all counts.
Yeah, it certainly reads like a genuine article. I felt I’d read it before, but my memory ain’t great, which is cool, because I almost get to read it again for the first time… lucky me, it’s such a good poem, Sharon.
Yes, you’ve posted it before and once again the visual of the 'tousled blonde ornament ’ perched on the boy’s handlebars brought the whole thing to life for me.
What Trish said. And the undulating structure was like the very light lapping of waves against a raft while lounging. I’m a Minnesota boy so when I see “loon” and “lake” I gotta read it.
