Late summer evenings,
Rocking chair on the porch, white paint peeling
A sticky neck from the day’s humidity
And storm clouds on the horizon.
The big old maple tree out back
Where we played when we were kids.
Heavy with our secrets
Heavy with our stories,
And our lonely secret summer love.
Rain on the roof above
Beneath the red and navy quilt,
Squares soft like skin
We had a dock.
It was summer.