This Summer Arrived Like a Guest

who came late
bringing rain, hot humid
fog promising a rainbow
that never came

We waited for weeks
for June to open
its lazy ease. We waited
for the lake to warm,

the loons to hollow the air
at twilight. A moon that rose
past dinner, past sleep
as though we could put off

dreaming. As if we could
outlast anticipation before
we were cold again,
contracting even in sunlight.

We were sure the calendar
lied, sure we were owed
at least one day over again.
I would pick today

with its breezes. And the way
we relinquished the garden
to the dahlias, the lake
to the sun, the sky

to bird trills and songs,
the bushes to the berries,
our skin to the heat.
We lived this day

in summer as if we’d lost
track. For hours we breathed
light. Shoeless, unbuttoned
we dropped everything we knew

about protection. As if we had
been chosen for this day
because we were made
for happiness.

Ginnie Goulet Gavrin is a retired massage therapist. Currently she teaches meditation and writing workshops at the Monadnock Mindfulness Practice Center in Keene, New Hampshire. She holds a Master of Fine Arts degree from the Stonecoast MFA in Creative Writing. Her poetry has appeared in The Literary Review, The Worcester Review, Slipstream, The Greensboro Review, Cold Mountain Review, Tar River Poetry, Silk Road Review, Pensive, A Journal of Spirituality and The Arts, as well as an anthology on Rewilding put out by Split Rock Review.

Published October 15 2023