Summer Bird

Summer evenings in years before with all of the doors in the house wide open,

The sprinkler makes its rounds around the yard with a rhythm unbroken:

Ch-ch-ch chanting a summer’s song.

 

The fragrance of wet grass drifts through the air

It settles in my clothes, and in my hair.

Sweat slides down my back causing my shirt to stick.

 

The summer bird plays on the tip of the street light

It chirps and then leaps off without hesitancy in flight

With winding abandon it flies, knowing it will be back the next day unchanged.

 

Now, I sit here, present day

With the doors wide open

And all of us sweating away.

The cherished sprinkler tolls in my mind,

The smell of wet grass grows sour,

And the sweat has soiled my clothing. I find

The bird’s chirping ticks like a clock.

I try to cherish, but I can only count

the remaining days on the calendar. They mock.

I am that summer bird

That left home with abandon

Those months ago with hesitancy being but a word.

I finally returned from my year of flight,

Expecting to come back and feel home. I’ve come

Back to my mother’s deep laughter at its height,

And father’s warm, sticky embraces only to find

After I left the nest,

I only have departure on my mind.

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