Tuesday, 14 July 2009

July by Aiko Harman

Out on the back porch
watching the dogs catch June bugs
praying for peace.

Red Solo cups clutter the lawn,
saran wrap hugs the leftover
hamburgers until tomorrow.

After dusk, mosquitoes make
blue sparks in the hanging zapper.
Crickets tune on the lawn.

Grandfathers sleep in Lazyboys
in the living room, holding cups
of melting ice on their bellies.

Girls in sundresses catch lightning
bugs along the still lake in mason jars
— nature’s night-lights.

My mother, her sister, sit in the kitchen,
remembering, their staccato voices echo
from the window like two canaries.

I am home. I sleep to the hum
of the fan left on overnight, dry heat,
and summer.

Aiko Harman, Scotland


Crafty Green Poet said...

Aiko is from Los Angeles, California, but lives in Scotland while she pursues an MSc in Creative Writing at Edinburgh University. Prior to this, she lived in Japan, teaching English to high school students and getting to know her maternal Japanese family -- an experience which has geared many of her poems towards Japan and cultural hybridity. Her poetry has been published in Anon, The Glasgow Review, textualities, and Fuselit, among others. She was the winner of the 2009 Grierson Verse Prize, and a recipient of the William Hunter Sharpe memorial scholarship in creative writing.

poefusion said...

Beautifully written Aiko. I am reminded of the simple things in life and their grandeur through your poem. Well done. Have a great night.

Regina said...

Oh, how wonderful, Aiko- and there's so much to love here... what a lovely description of a July summer evening!

Ameerah A said...

I love the hazily mellow descriptions of simple, but so quietly pulsating, summer moments