September 1, 2016

A poem by Belinda Hubert: "Indiana Summer"

In addition to writing fiction and poetry, Belinda Hubert is currently working on a  a collection of short stories about life in the Midwest. Her novel, Shrink Wrapped is available on Amazon. Belinda works as a clinical psychologist in a private practice in Lowell, Indiana.

Lindy Indiana Summer.jpg
Photo submitted by Belinda Hubert


Summer is magnificent - when it’s magnificent.
I love how the air sweeps through my house
Pregnant with warmth and humidity
Blowing the tall plants in my gardens so that they sway and bend
And carry the scent of lilies everywhere.

Never mind when it swelters
As it is want to do.
Making each hot wet breath a labor as
Sweat dampens my scalp and drips down my back and neck
While I yank out the prickly and poisonous weeds.

The colors vibrate in the brightest shades
Of orange and fuchsia, purple, red and yellow.  And blue, for goodness sake.
There must be a thousand kinds of green
Right now after I watched a cooling thunderstorm
Roll in from my front porch swing.

Never mind when it bakes everything out to a dull tan
Because it hasn’t rained in weeks.
The spots where the dog pees
Especially dead in big circles in the grass
Forcing me out with my puny garden hose to keep my prizes barely alive.

There is always bird song -
A constant riot of chirps and clicks.
Impossible calling and answering
From those tiny creatures that are colored as bright as any flower
Descendant of dinosaurs.  Who needs magic when it flutters by every day?

Never mind that they poop all over my windows
And cannot possibly eat all the danged bugs
That plague me with blood sucking glee
Crawling up the back of my arm or along my scalp before taking a bite.

The sun sets each day in the most spectacular, golden light
Especially when the clouds are puffs of mountainous cotton candy.
Piled on top of one another to be shaded to pinks and orange
While the blank part shines sky blue and turquoise
Right beside and around it all.

Never mind that in the middle of the day the sun beats
Down on me, burning and toasting -
Crusting up the outer layer of my body so I can
Grow a cancer or two from just gardening, for cripe’s sake.

Ain’t that just the way it is, being human
On this gorgeous blue orb
Floating out there in space?
Whoever thought this all up is a real comedian.
And a true magician of the highest order.

~Belinda Hubert

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