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  • Writer's pictureAnne Mitchell

Sonnet of Lost Summers

When days equal night and the air is crisp,

sand etches tides into swirls and I breathe

ferment of apples and hungry wasps’ wisp,

before rushes of school bells greet pencils on leave.

Return of book bag and bike flaked in rust,

pack games in a trunk, with magic red knave,

cover in sheets ’til next season we trust,

during deep winter the screen porch you crave.

While lessons of Beowulf, Bio evolve,

surf sounds and waves seem forever on mute,

crosswords and crab feeds and beefsteaks dissolve

like elms out the window, barren in root.

Dark days of divorce in winter foment,

Summer cottage fades to forever’s dormant.

Published in February, 2022, The Poet Magazine Vol. 2 - Cultural Identity


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