Summer Star

Snow drifts just outside of my window
on a humid summer night, gliding down
in defiance of logic or the baffled
reports of weathermen. A sheet of falling
white blankets the pavement and cars
and couples walking in shorts, arm
in arm for a midnight stroll. Thousands
of tiny stars cascade from the sky,
and a single flake lands pressed against
the pane of glass. I lean across the chill
rush of the air conditioner and stare
longingly at the single, beautiful,
magnificent star. Dazzling designs
and patterns stretch in six unique
points, gleaming and majestic, calling
out to me as if it were my own
to hold in my palm and then stuff into
my pocket for safe keeping. But cruel
Mr. July wakes from his slumber
and sees the invading trickery
of his brother December. The snow
upon the ground fades as a dream,
and before I can save my dear
friend, July’s grasping hand takes hold,
blinding the light of my summer star.


[Published in Poetic Hours, Autumn 2006]