When the summer sun is gushing yellow
onto the fields, light play among glossy leaves,
I bite into a red plum and delight in all things
oozy and bright. Once all summer days seemed so,
days on end with carefree jaunts to the beach,
teetering on high dives at the local pool.
Days when boys with tanned, muscled arms rode bicycles
pell-mell, mercurochrome-painted knees pumping.
My heart pumped too at such summer sights,
wishing for true love beneath star-speckled skies.
Plums are still ambrosia, a snack beneath a green umbrella,
dark clouds bunching on the horizon,
song birds silent like statues of Rome,
shadows on the patio, a chill in the heart.
-Donna Isaac
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