For the love of summer

On and around the summer solstice, I like thinking about god, goddess, nature, the elements, and what we pray to. I get a bit neurotic about summer: I want to squeeze every bit of life out of the season: every strawberry, every tomato sandwich, every thirst-quenching drink, every tiny little outfit with very little fabric, every lingering meeting with a friend, preferably on the street. I want all the life available to me in summer.

I wrote the poem below in May when I was finding my way back to myself after a long period of what felt like a betrayal. I rearranged and finessed it in June. I noticed that during that time, I didn’t write much poetry; I felt so dull inside for so long. That doesn’t mean much, I’ve only ever been a part time poet at best. But I have been writing poems and reading them since I was 6 or 7 years old. It’s fun to return to older pieces of writing and play with them. See what to throw away and what to keep. What to add and how I’ve changed. It feels good to meander on the page like that again, with no real goal in sight beyond putting words down. It’s a return to myself, and that feels sweet. 

I share it with you here as an offering for summer. May we savour it, drink it in, and let it be easy when we can—like summer herself—like the high light and long nights. Like the feeling I always have that summer has already ended before it’s even begun.

With love,

Nora x

I am not what you want me to be

I am not what you might expect 

I am not your hippie 

The one you call me because you’re unimaginative 

And can’t quite fit me in your box 

Made of flimsy adjectives on two-cent sentences 

I’ll cut you down and build you back up

I’ll destroy you and burn everything you have 

Just to make you new again

Don’t tempt me - I’ll show you over and over again what destruction is 

To remind you of my power 

Bow to me

I am not crystals and maca powder and adaptogenic lattes — though I could be 

I am not in the art school you didn’t go to 

Or your endless regret 

I’m in the murky puddles filled with shit and grit

I’m the clogged toilet and the horse manure in your nostrils at dawn

I was the rooster at 448 am every morning for weeks that summer

When you were mostly hungover and always needing at least 4 more hours of sleep 

Balinese prayer song dancing through your consciousness

You regarded me as an afterthought, then

But there I was 

I am not your cracked ribs and cut bone 

I am not your sagging neck, though you seem to look for me there 

I am not in the lack you tend to so lovingly

I am in the sound of the pool drains and the high-pitched voice of your best friend’s daughter who says, “Her told me,” instead of using she 

delighting you each and every time

I am in the scent of jasmine under a tree on Clinton Street in May 

And the same whiff you get on Greenwood Rd in June 

I am in the dull dead ground of winter 

I am in the sleepless nights from January to May despite how much you resisted me 

I am in the chance meeting with an old friend you could have loved

Kids hanging from the limbs you wouldn’t let touch you 

You may find me in the darkness 

You may find me in the crazed relentless obsession 

You may find me when you least expect it, in the most unlikely places

Look for me 

Sit with me 

When you set me and forget me 

Find me again

Either way, I’ll never leave you 

I’ll always love you

Even when it’s in short supply 

And you can’t seem to do it for yourself 

Especially then

lover bride whore spinster sister shrew maiden Madonna Magdalene matriarch

you’re mine