The pond by your father's place always froze over
The ice always reaching no matter whether the weather was freezing or not.
The silence on either side of the window panes killed you, you said.
You told me the patterns on the glass reminded you of bleeding.

You used to have donkeys, and they always loved you.
Bringing them pears and soft touches behind ears.

I was a boy, still, but it all made sense.
The way that your mouth moved
when whispering memories to me.
I remember that Spring that we fell through the ice.
Jangled nerve endings felt stabbing. Cold knives.
Wet hair. Lucky to make it out.

The last time you saw me you told me, "You're bleeding..."
I smiled and spat once and said I was fine.
I'd tripped on your driveway whilst walking to see you
and busted my lips on your mailbox.
You wiped one ring finger, stilled my moving mouth.
It was only a little. (Blood, that is.)

You wiped it again on my shirt.
You ***!

I wish we'd drawn pictures in the snow with it.

The Winter has claimed me, I think, since then.
Blizzards well up in the corners of my eyes from time to time.
Snowbanks form on my brows when I furrow.
I furrow a lot now.

The bees in the tree at the edge of your father's place
Stung up your back and neck that Summer. Remember?
Calamine smile, you had me pull out the stingers.
Your dad's debit card, wiped across your back.
"Declined," I said.
You laughed.
And the pond, in my memory, still looks iced over
Even though that was July.
Right after my birthday.

Last month, saw the sign, said your father had sold
          his place. Our place.
             He misses you too.

I wish you here now.

We're all getting old, but I can't let myself grow.
I'm not any smarter, I'm just clothed in cold
And I forgot how to feel the way we did then.

I'd like another plunge, through thin ice, I think.
Anyway, I hate the Summer time.
The heat's too mean.
You know that about me.

there was a time when tripping on asphalt
rewarded you a kiss to the broken skin,
a bandaid & a warm hug. the air
often smelled like rain & cut grass
after lunch in the cafeteria

and i always wore
a helmet and knee pads when
i went biking with dad. i felt funny
up until the moment i’d
squeezed my brake too hard
and fallen off my bike.

a thrilling game tag in the front yard under
orange skies of august was
soon quenched by a cold sip of caprisun.
dad sat on a lawn chair
grilling only what could be hot dogs,
meat patties, and bell peppers that i told him i
never really liked eating.

indigo blue only meant one thing:
a long day in the pool
clad in our arm floaties and
goggles and diving into the blue
like we would be doing this
forever & ever.

there was a time when i’d sit
on the pavement
wearing my ballerina sneakers,
watching how kids looked like ants
as they climbed onto the playground,
throwing woodchips at one another.

eating a bucketload of candy
was easier than eating dinner.
when the shadows grew at night
i’d leave the light on for too long
but watching superheroes
over a tub of ice cream was just the cure.
we’d build pillow forts &
take naps in them.

there was a time when the colors
were clear & bright, when movies
made everything feel like magic
and mom’s face was wrinkleless
and dad could stand in the garden for hours
and my brother was busy studying
and i only knew
summer & pillow forts

Skies darken as blue fades,
clouds burst in happiness,
a cascade of drops,
soaking earth,
a rosary of shimmering beads,
crystal droplets dance in puddles,
peering through glass windows,
tapping on roof tops that slant,
on thatched homes that drip,
on twigs and branches,
on ruby tangerine roses and sunny marigolds,
settling in scarlet and auburn crevices,
on emerald leaves and blades of satin green grass,
glistening like drops of morning dew,
and in the midst of the gentle splash of the rain,
there you are —
it is always raining you

The grey gives way to fuchsia pink  
And light falls softly upon the trees
It’s then, he's seen, the morning sun
With his fingers of gold and earthy honey
That wake the sleepy land and sea
And warm the gentle birds and bees
Brighten the fragrant rain kissed rose
That rests on brows that still repose —
And speaks to the stars hidden above
Of warm nights and a summer of love

The feeling of the sun burning your chest.
The feeling of taking a well-needed rest.
The feeling of Summer.
Summer is for swimming in the pool until the cows come home.
Summer is for playing with your toys while you dry off after a long pool swim.
Summer is for eating hot dogs in your friends’ backyard after swimming.
Summer is for eating ice cream at the pier.
Summer is for drinking ****** Pina Colada while your parents drink beer.
Summer is for making sand castles with your cousin and calling each other when you get home.
Summer is for eating potato chips while watching your favorite show.
Summer is for playing video games with your friends.
Summer is for having a wonky sleep schedule and watching movies all-night.
Summer is for biking to the corner store and buying a popsicle of spongebob with gumball eyes that look distorted.
Summer is for sitting in a chair watching the dodger game listening to the ocean.
Summer is for your mom vigorously slapping you claiming she’s “putting sunscreen on you.”
Summer is for your dad yelling at the TV that “It’s not a strike, it’s a ball!”
Summer is for going to Baskin Robbins and getting a scoop of Daiquiri Ice.
Summer is for burning yourself trying to put your seatbelt on.
Summer is for buying ice cream from the ice cream man at the park.
Summer is for eating soft tacos watching the sun set.
Summer is for choking on plastic trying to open an Otter Pop with your friend.
Summer is for dipping potato chips in vanilla ice cream because it’s goofy and it tastes good.
Summer is for eating ice cream for breakfast.
Summer is for eating a hamburger and salty fries in your dad’s car watching a movie through someone else’s window.
Summer is for making an ice cream sensation in your kitchen.
Summer is for sitting in a chair and breathing in and out. There is no homework. No tardy sweeps. No bullies. No past-due assignments. No stress. That’s what summer is really for.

What's better than a summer day?
Not a whole lot,
But there are a few things.
There's love for one,
After all, any day with love makes summer look glum.
Some argue for money,
But I just don't know,
Money doesn't feed my soul.
Family is up there,
But the sun can set even on that,
Guess a legacy isn't as immortal as they say.