The End of Summer by Mariah Crawford (Aims Review Literary Award Winner)

I always felt that summer

was something to be endured.

The entire season felt

like the hop-skip of bare feet

on blistering concrete, waiting 

to jump into the cooling depths of the pool.

I met you in the height of it,

in the hottest stretch of weeks,

when the temperature made

the city bend and twist

into wavy lines that curled

up from the pavement. 

You had pretty eyes, a prettier smile.

But what I remember the most

is how sitting next to you felt

like the first cool morning in September,

when the breeze became a caress 

on my sunburnt shoulders and

the days stretched out before me

into small pockets of shade.

And when you said my name,

I could hear with it the promise

this season is about to change.