Pocket Change: a Poem for August

Welcome, August, my favorite month. I wrote this poem for you last night, while I sat on the screened porch watching the sun fizzle into the lake before nightfall.

watercolor and colored pencil illustration for Farm Club’s 2024 calendar

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AUGUST EVE 
by Lindsay Gardner

Entertain this whim with me

Instead of hours and days 
could we tell time in shades of ripeness, or 
in curves of frilly leaf, or 
depth of crimson petal? 

Might we mark its forward leaps 
in terms of tomatoes heavy with juices? 

(We linger while they rest in roundess,
ripening on the counter, 
careful not to miss our chance) 

Or perhaps in terms of plums, aubergines, cosmos– 
flaunting velvet purple 

Would you believe me if I said 
we can mark the difference 
between a moment ago 
and this one 
by the cicadas' raucous chant 

You know the rhythm– 
it rises undimmed, 
in stride with the sun's highest stretch 

By our senses alone then 
might we know August? 
Recognize its sacred sum 
in wild, pleasant profusion?

August– 

On my dew-laden brow
while I pick wilting basil from the stem
leaning over the kitchen sink
breathing cool inky darkness

August– 

unflinching; 
alive as alive can be 

Let every cell of me 
remember it 
come winter.

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