I spit the seeds out of the watermelon, black and bitter
they fly,
From the shady park bench beer in hand smile, to the
Sun-dappled gravel path ahead.
And this year summer bleeds dry like a homecoming,
like a ,
Return to the small town seaside air that smells like salt
and a bike ride down a hill with a broken back brake and a
watch-strap tan-line and a hello mum and dad and old
friends how long it’s been and how lovely it is to be here
for longer than a hug goodbye,
A see you later that rings true.
A summer with time to sit in the garden,
To sip coffee and see the butterflies fling themselves erratically,
To see a fat bee getting drunk on all the abundance and,
Some things never change.
(My father will always point out a swallow dancing in the sky, the first ones flit through the air like trails of happiness that linger.)
And other things do.
(The flowers seem more vibrant, the city’s ablaze with the warmth of it, more people smile and say hello, more people have moved on.)
And September sun draws in like the last sips of a
glass of wine tinged with aperol, like the
Last lick of a burst nectarine dribble down your chin, like a
Swallow’s farewell leaving behind a cold air tinged
with the fog of breath.
So I’ll take a swim under a lopsided midnight sun half tipsy,
with a tide so far drawn out it takes its sweetened time
to come back in,
Just like a summertime,
long and lazy.
Photos: by Miriam Morris (35mm).
Poem: ‘Summer by the Sea’ by Lara Adams Carmena
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