Julia McConnell

June Valentine

My heart sings the grackle’s song
not pretty
but insistent
always hungry
picking tiny raspberry fools
out of brambles.

It is June
already summer berries grunt
daylilies begin their orange buckle
the season hobnobbing with decay.

sunlight is untouchable
but it touches you
your skin, your hair
a tincture of flame.

I thought I would be there by now
in the treacle sponge
of green 
you call home.
My heart a rhubarb mess
dropped on the pavement
ants licking the sweet syrup.

The solstice approaches.
Every day we are given
more light.
Every day I try
to stay awake.
Every day I hear you 
you the blue robin’s egg
I carry in my pocket.

You say you are too old.
I say summer is short
long as firework’s flare 
a shiver of light 
blooming and dissolving 
against night’s endless sky.
On the ground
faces lift
with pleasure.

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Julia McConnell is a lesbian  poet and a librarian. Her chapbook, Against the Blue, was published by Finishing Line Press in 2016. Her work has appeared in MockingHeart Review, THIS LAND, All Roads Will Lead You Home, Blood and Thunder, and many anthologies. Originally from Oklahoma, Julia lives in Seattle with her Jack Russell Terrier, Molly Marlova Magdalena McConnell.