I wondered if there were going to be anymore summers. 
                                    --Patrick Modiano

It will be summer eventually
but not for several years.
No ice cream trucks, no baseball games,
no jostling crowds that cheer.

No blankets spread upon the sand,
no gaily striped beach towels.
No breezes full of salt-sea air
no surfers in the swells.

No amusement parks, no midway
lights, no hot dogs, cotton candy.
No fireworks dazzling on the fourth,
no children getting sandy.

But fireflies will decorate
each tiny blade of grass,
and the moon in July will flood the sky;
some day this will pass.

Until then, may tomatoes swell
until they fit your hands.
May peaches fill with juice and sun
in Mason jar’s gold bands.



© by Barbara Crooker.
Used with the author’s permission.