I have cheated you a hundred times,

Summer said to the old woman –

I am still alive and you are withered.

The old woman opened her mouth:

There was a time in my life when I woke up thinking only ugly things.

Young people say, despair, young people say, sorrow.

But all they want is a song they’ve heard before.

Cotton shifts, a spray of wildflowers.

I remember feasting on chicken bones,

I would boil them in a pot and drink the broth.

No one cupped my ankles or called me pretty.

I believe this breast was a mass of sun.

I remember someone throwing dried dates at me to hint at prosperity –

I rushed forward with an open skirt to catch them.

The wind was blowing.

The old woman lay beneath the boughs.

It is almost suppertime, she said to no one in particular.

I am not ashamed – the sky is thundering lapis.

August, I am done. The day is short, and

there are so many evergreens.