THIS IS THE STRANGEST SKY

by Michael H. Brownstein

so blue it highlights her eyes,
the white sun,
and grass in dire need of drink
This was the year winter did not come
and summer arrived before spring,
strong green and full of itself.
We cut the lawn for the first time in March,
watched a frenzy of honeybees in April
and harvested our first wild strawberries soon after.
By the time May arrived,
we had gone swimming in the pond outback,
the municipal swimming pool had opened,
and the first heat violence churned through the park.
The rivers of mud cracked,
its bank's knee dropped into crumbs
and the worst part of all of this was the lack of any comforting breeze.
We sat on the swinging chair in the shade of the porch
and waited for an east wind.