Anonymous Survivor

Summer Iridescence

May drizzles dangerous nostalgia

for summers sprawled lush and limitless,

as time enchants memory into illusion.

I remember palm trees, jazz fingers flying,

mocking the tempo of an indolent breeze.

I remember dawn claiming the sky

in a fuchsia slash, a tremble of cloud

skittering above peaks still capped in snow,

star soaked, open air nights, the consolation of fire,

the murmur of fountains, the shelter of story.

But I can’t remember what waited indoors.

I remember the seductive weight

of a sleepy toddler and the salt tang,

the shell speckled grit, of beach afternoons

the siren sea flashing spangles and frothing lace,

swirling dancing feet, tingling ankles and knees.

But I can’t remember if we could go home.

I remember the flash of dragonflies

drawing pentagrams in the air, their iridescence

spawning awe and a thousand questions,

puffballs of fledgling quail erupting

through a fence, smores and barbeque,

vinyl and card games, Kool-Aid and wine.

But I can’t remember who I had to be.

I want to remember the whispers of lullabies

and love songs, the path of a finger down a cheek.

I want to forget the menace in a silence, the invective

in a glance, the warning in an endearment.

I want to remember that I left and forget

that I went back, in the summer.