Posted in Poetry

Racing Toward September

We would wield
A dull butcher knife
Slicing against the grain
Of green on green rind
Cutting in two
Like twin halves of a broken
Heart, red with seeds spilling
Black and shiny
And smaller
White alewives
Onto the kitchen counter
Spiriting off with large slices
And a salt shaker to
The back porch sitting
On the edge of the pock-marked
Cement, spitting seeds
Into the grass
Sucking hard on the escaping
Juices and the illusiveness
Of those
Long northern days
That slipped away too
Fast, racing toward

© Jilly's
All Rights Reserved


A wild soul writing poetry.

5 thoughts on “Racing Toward September

  1. Oh, man! How those of us who suffered being raised in the North can relate to the inevitable “race to September!” How life as we as kids knew it, ended just after Labor Day — the day when hard labor began again. Great poem that tapped into that time, Jill.

    Liked by 1 person

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