MIDSUMMER

Time to scold the goldenrod. Don’t you know
it’s July? Still wear your greeny gown,
put away the gilding. Leave us drowsing
beside the bees, welcoming small hail
on our steaming skins as it stings.

Grapes, spit back the sugar
into your vines, back in the sun’s face.
Let it still be verjuice season. Pucker
our lips a while yet against sweet autumn.

Crows, I know your feathers hoard heat,
warm you to beseech some coolness,
infest your gossiping brains with chatter
of cocoons and corns, a feast of breeze
that’s yearned for now. But sway and caw—
let your solemn, carping bulk keep this world atilt
until the coming of a seemlier season
for harvest’s tasks and risks and honeyed splendors.

Mary Ann Dimand lives in Colorado, where she is working on turning a small horse property into a small organic farm.