Wander Word


Summer Symphony

By Susan Brennan

Susan Brennan is the author of chapbook numinous (Finishing Line Press) and Drunken Oasis (Rattapallax Press). She is a screenwriter, producer and is currently staging her poem about George Seurat, Chromoluminarism. See what’s she’s up to and into at tinycubesofice.com.

what will she bring you?
a small brass cup of cherry wine
cocoanut shavings in the palm of your hand
rain sugaring the ochre
blue green vines twisting in braids
and long maroon bars of sun’s eye shutting
a beach racing stripe

what will Summer bring?
mushrooms – their blistering occurrence

a forest of days
can we make a forest of your summers?
can we chop and burn one and listen to it whistle and pop all night?

what migration of nostalgia
what thawed river you’ve been afraid to cup your hands and suck from
what brash recline on unknown beds, sleeping bags, mats, floors, moss
what bruising last words that rush out naked carrying too much
what platter of peaches and grapes ripe with bronze shadows

this Summer will ruin your sentences
when the boy you love sings your name
when all you can say is “O”
when his voice blushes your whole body
his breath shaky down your neck

Summer, don’t spare me this year
bring me high, bring me star shaved sky
bring me this year’s wild grass – timothy, foxtail, blackbent, and redtop
bring me green fisted buds, green clapping leaves and cursive pea shoots

Summer, I’m here for you, unwaltzed and ready
bring back those mushrooms from two stanzas ago
bring me fern, flags of the understory
bring me the hierarchy of mountains
their sapphire lakes and river tresses
their cool wolf toothed caves fur lined into gold veined tunnels

let’s go back to the lakes – let’s not skip their depth
their barking blue plunges
wet worms and snails curled on shorelines
clams flutter, those mud-ears slipping open
to swallow water’s song

let’s go back to the snails, their infinite spirals
O, I will follow their lead inward and outward
the dusty rose lips of their bodies latched
onto the cadet blue of their spacecraft shells
let’s look at the thousands of them all at once
a spinning French horn section of portholes

Summer, I promise:
less cell phone email text tumors
more red shoes
more rescued katydids
more donations to drought lands
more worry for the warred on
more books for the teen library
less concern for my sloppy soul
less rumors, more cinnamon
more radios left on low while drifting on a porch
and thrift store LP’s spinning jangle guitars
more peacock feathered knee socks
less sturdy, more tremble

of frothing jade mountains
blackberry twilight and carnelian kisses
Summer of lapis highways and chrome haloed memories
of highschool junkers and mystery bells
and songs with wide eyes
and blonde ponies tramping up the dawn
and lit window diary nights writing his name

Summer – kingdom of night blooming jasmine
spider web Alhambras
electric blue hammock sex boats
asphalt melting banjos
flash of frog’s emerald parenthesis legs
Coney Island sparrows and swallows
Wonder Wheel fool rolling French kissing
butterscotch lighting, O Summer

once you found me, I was so overdone
I was bit down and wood blooded
why must I try so hard? botched by birth
just polish me with Django steel stringed winds

Summer you’re here
Summer, Witch of Sun, Voodoo Moon
beat down on my skin
make me shine