I remember when summer days floated along

with the hot breeze

like the tune of a lazy saxophone

pouring like honey through the calendar lines

 

we played and played

as the hot sun sunk into our skin

until we were so full of heat that

our heavy limbs drifted to the cold

depths of our bed sheets for the

warm night, dreaming about

when we’d see the sun next

 

we were young enough to wake up to the

newly lit sky

the sun our only signal of the time of day

the numbered dates packed away

the calendar was a blank page

that we decorated with adventures and doodles

without lines to color in

 

But summer grew up when we did

and the sun became too hot

and disruptive of our sleep

and the lazy saxophone sounded more

like an alarm clock

birds songs sounded like someone

screaming GOOD MORNING!

and the sun in the sky only told us

how much time we didn’t have left

 

the days didn’t start with the rising sun

the days started with capital letters

dates took the name of numbers and slashes

summer grew black lines and boxes

so rigid and linear

they wouldn’t even bend in the summer heat

 

tasks were assigned

and deadlined

days confined

to these systematic

numerical

claustrophobic lines

days looked like to do lists

and schedules

in black and blue ink

I miss when we would color summer

on a blank piece of paper

because now

I’m coloring in the lines.