August - Yona Harvey

swatting mosquitoes

I knelt beside daddy's deck
as afternoon unraveled
like a volleyball net.
Our lawn recurred five times
up the lane, every yard's
tomato plants patterned
after the same magazine.
Granny Burns sighed
at my aunts & mother
fluttering like insects
among paper plates,
baked beans, potato salad.
Too shy to dance, I watched
my cousins' bodies bob
& pop like pogo sticks
to Roger Troutman
& Zapp, each proud step
an electric prayer.
I searched old boxes
for badminton racquets
as beads of sweat clung
to my small breasts
like a boy's mouth,
almost happy
being asked to help.

Retirado daqui.