Posted in childhood, poetry

The End of Summer

The End of Summer  This isn’t working,  trying to write this poem about the end of summer, the innocence walked and lost,  the giggles of kissing a boy on the cheek underneath the playground slide, holding hands in secret, when sundresses were sweet, bad haircuts were accepted, expected, and no one cared if ice cream dripped down elbows.  I don’t want to be that poet that’s trapped in childhood, recounting expected images, accept that nothing about growing up in a suburban middle class family was unique. We all caught fireflies in jars at dusk and walked through neighborhoods to the pool, jumped off swing sets  and drew lines in mulch to see who landed further.   In my head I’m still the girl with sun kissed cheeks, freckles of youth dotting my nose, craving popsicles,  casting my arms out in a T and twirling until I’m so dizzy my laugh cramps in my stomach, but it’s the end of the summer and there’s a weird emptiness beneath my heart.  Nothing’s the same as it used to be.   —Leanne Rebecca

Nostalgia central.


Poetry and music.

3 thoughts on “The End of Summer

  1. That summer has passed. Everything is new, each season, each year. But why can’t we long for reminiscent times? Why do we need to build up new nows and new futures? Our life is not a growth economy and now we know that doesn’t work in the long run.

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