We just called her Janis. She was
rough water, and she made every
summertime after I heard her rasping
birdsong voice a return to my youth.
She had a course edge that on a turn
went drowsy and flushed, rock and
rhyme. It made us stoney and wild
as an angel’s trumpet, or a breath
of disorderly air. Notes came smooth
as polished jade. That first word of
her Summertime, was serrated and
saw-toothed. She set the air in motion.
Her life was a passing breeze, and
she faltered on the thinness of ice.
For Miz Quickly’s “Summertime” 15 August. Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021