The Last Spring Day
The treetops are tinted rose gold
As dusk swallows the last spring day.
We lay out in a hammock, fingers entwined
As we watch kites swoop through the sky,
Their arched wings graceful as they dive and swirl.
How I wish I were a bird, free to go wherever I wished.
In an hour, there will be fireflies,
Lightning bugs, you call them.
Tomorrow, you’ll leave for the summer,
To work on a ranch out west outside some town
With a native name I can’t pronounce.
I hate the ranch. I hate the town. I hate the summer.
I begged you to stay; it’s our last summer after all
Before college for me and the Army for you.
You just laughed. You do that a lot,
And, normally, I don’t mind,
But now the last day of spring is gone.
I feel the minutes rushing over us, between us, like a wedge.
The eastern sky is inky.
There is a dazzling wash of gold
On the western horizon, as if it were gloating.
Tomorrow it will take you away from me.
Instead of pointing this out, I kiss you.
The feeling of your breath catching is a jewel in my heart.
If I were magic, I would bewitch you;
I would make you stay with me in the woods,
Far from the open prairie skies and endless miles westward.
But as I am mundane, I memorize the taste of you,
Behind the grit of smoke and the crispness of mint.
I tuck it away with the other treasures, hoping you collect such things too.
Because maybe then you’ll miss me.
Maybe then… maybe, you’ll come back to me
Even if it takes until the last summer day.
When your rough fingers run down my cheek
I think, perhaps you do and you will.
