Miss August
A poem by Julia R. DeStefano
Miss August
I wish you’d taken that picture
when you said I looked like something out of a magazine,
perched atop the sea wall
with salt in my mermaid hair
and a bare leg peeking out from my emerald sundress.
“You’d be August, August 1955” -
your words dripping with the joy
written all over your face.
You tasted like the beach.
I wanted to be the ocean to cleanse you
as your kiss does me.
Envelop you in my octopus arms.
Love you like a woman should.
In the vast landscape stretched out before us,
we spoke of lightness -
new for us both -
finally daring to call it happiness.
Indifferent were we to the impending change of seasons,
for moments like these can so easily
turn to wither without watering.
And I think a woman’s heart must be different
in that it finds salvation in connection -
equipped with an overflowing supply of love
to sow seed after seed in this life
and an unending prayer
for Mr. September to harvest.
© Julia R. DeStefano
