Juneberry Solstice
On the longest day of the year,
Wildflowers withered in the heart of heat
But I could reap a glimpse of you
beneath the morning dew, between the juneberry leaves.
You plucked each little pearl,
crafting constellations in your pocket,
As if you alone were stretching the sun
Even farther along the interstate highway.
Some berries are unripe: we reserve these for birds.
We kissed each fruit, savored the short-lived sweetness,
And warmth of your skin was enough
to drown out the colliding cars.
On the longest day of the year,
I lived in the parting of your lips;
juneberries ripening in indigo shadow.
by Erica Hom
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