Summer, 1957
She was
summer, all summer,
In plaid
skirt and cat’s-eye glasses,
She had a smile
as bright as the sun
And eyes the
color of a cloudless sky.
Her hair
dark, black like the smooth
Shadows of
that first weekend in July,
Ink-black,
shattered by the fireworks
Of her
laughter and she could spin,
Boy, could
she spin,
Around and
around to the music
That came
blaring from the radio
Propped on
the shelf
Just above
the sink
In her
mother’s kitchen;
Window open,
music pouring
Out of the
house into the yard,
Where she
danced, and I danced, and
We danced,
Darting in
between the pillowcases and
Sheets
dancing on the clothesline.
She
whisperlaughed, “You and me, we
Are dancing
between the sheets!”
She stole a
kiss from my innocent lips.
And then she
danced away,
As the
warmth of her sunlight
Poured from
every pore of my skin.
MR
2015-0727
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