When July had always been nights of fireworks
When July was the time of flashing blades
When that was the month of celebrations
hot, sultry, a time of dragonflies and drum of
compressors and the thrum of air-conditioning
Songs soared to the rooftops - Tchaikovsky
alternating with Willie Nelson, dogs herding
playing pitch with the boys in the park
The tiger lily grabbed you in mid sentence
© Gay Reiser Cannon * 4.3.2016 * All Rights Reserved
And that was last year - before I ran away to London
Because I will (if I can) always run away to London.
Because I knew Donald Trump would win
and freedoms would fade. There had been Nice,
with a truck killing dozens, but unfazed
I would have London and she gave herself to me.
The Thames, the Squares, the Circuses, the museums,
The West End shows and then I came home.
Husband gone in July '91; best friend then in August '16.
Yes that was last year.
Here...July '17, just begun and this one week, five deaths.
A nephew, 43, survived by two children and a distraught wife;
three friends younger than I am, fathers of skaters,
gone in a flash. A woman I barely knew but tied together
by a man who supported us both by friendship and employment.
And now today, my son's father-in-law. A long hard death
after a long illness. Summer deaths, I learn, may come quick
or agonize past the time life should have ended - wearing the
quick to the bone.
At 20 life looks like a highway that runs beyond all that's known.
It's a faster drive than we thought. The towns fly by -- the beauty,
the countryside, the transitory shells, the sand, mountains, trees, change
and then it's finished. The trip is over. Finito. We believe, we hold...
that the Spirit travels on.
© Gay Reiser Cannon * 7.2.17 * All Rights Reserved