June 16, 2024 - “Everything felt like blushing”

We pulled weeds all afternoon
every Sunday in June. We lived
in this dissolving world. We forgot
the ice for the lemonade. I tried
to explain the cracked doorframe,
and why I kept crying in between sighs.
Everything felt like blushing. Neon tragedies
would flit across my mind. It wasn’t the heat,
the humidity, the sun . . . but still, the yard
looked best at dusk. We lived out there at dawn.