Poem by Lesley Rogers Hobbs
Every August when citronella mingles with jasmine and laughter tumbles around Upper Lake before drifting carelessly to its sandy bottom, bats fill the sky, a bloom of sun-kisses litters the water’s surface and late afternoon heat snakes around my tanned limbs. We sat together on the creaking dock in the space between day and night, bare legs touching wind whispering through willows along the shore. We were too young, like high-season strawberries— too lush, too ripe, ready to burst. The cabin door frame carefully records my history in inches, secrets nestle in sagging couch cushions and dog-eared books, tenderly cataloged while summer too swiftly retreats and soon there remains only the echo of innocence floating on the lake.
Lesley Rogers Hobbs is an Irish poet and artist living in the Pacific Northwest (US) with her husband and service dog. She loves popcorn, sunshine, Pink Floyd, and the ocean. Her poetry has been published by The Ekphrastic Review and Open Door Poetry. She’s upcoming in The Hyacinth Review.
