If Octoberfest is in September, What about August
August sun moved others to revolution,
I am filled with your stillness. You dance
in the quiet silence and heated afternoon.
We journey into the dark mountains
for fruit. The drive overdrives with the constant
chatter of wordless conversation. You,
in search of purple globes that mix sweetness
with tang, speak love with your mind
working through the switch back road..
We talk without words in our language
we developed in the ten years since
our September meeting, 9/17/01.
August, times of changes and the anticipation
of school starting. The summer travels
of neighborhood kids riding scooters, coming over
to play with our son, riding their pink
electric truck. Our little development
shouts with the energy of bored children
both missing and dreading the classrooms.
You mingle with the others and speak
of the happenings around the close
by houses. We sit in chairs and beers
in hand watching the blades of grass
and different philosophy of mowing.
August, the moon, a name my son has
masters, sits in full light. The lemonade
stands, now fifty cents, sits empty. The sprinklers
beg for heads to wet. The tomatoes are
yellowing from green in preparation for red.
Suddenly, I remember the first kiss on Monroe
street in Pasadena. Long ago, but still
the taste lingers in the heat of our August.