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In the Heat of Summer by Kristine Neeley Quietly, I plod to the garden beds at dawn, hardly awake and hunted by the coming horizon. Dew neglects to collect in webs strung between strawberry plants: gossamered, sticky traps of green. Deftly, I plunge my hands into still-dry soil, barely breathing and hunted by hunger’s lack. Earthworms squirm out of tunnels brought to the surface: slimy, slithering saints in pink. Gently, I prune the crushed plants growing, coarsely crowded and hunted by the harvest. Tomatoes plead, lean, in a clamor of limbs and leaves withering, their slowly goldening canopy. Quickly, the sun lifts and its rays scorch, harshly starving and hunting the whole earth. Drought lifts parched lips, still holding up to hope its desperate, brown hands. Wearily, we wait with held breath for cloud and with it, our long-hunted, taste of rain. Skies blaze unconcerned by our need, daring to sing blue all the way into black.
Isn’t it funny how you can write a poem in April, knowing it was made for July? Knowing there will begin to string together weeks, just past the half, that you find yourself stalking the forecast for any sign that rain is on its way. Knowing that it’s not just the gardens, the grass, and the green trees waiting with bated breath, but every cell in your body that feels haunted by the lack of water from the sky.
On Day 19 of National Poetry Writing Month we were prompted to write a poem responding to the question “What are you haunted by, or what haunts you?” and then, in our poems, to change the word haunt to hunt.
My tomato plants weren’t yet in the garden, then, and the soil was still pummeled near daily by rain, but already I was haunted hunted by the thirst I knew would come: the bake of sun, the swelter of humidity, and a creeping desperation for whole days under the cover of thunderclouds.
I was one foot in the middle of spring, the other in the heat of summer. Now here, in this garden that won’t grow, the words that won’t come, the quiet that won’t quite show itself, I’m feeling it again: part longing, part delight, part dread.
Only this time, for all that fall brings, good, bad, and everything in between.
But most of all, change.
That’s the blessing of seasons, I’m sure. Of knowing they turn and that somehow by summer’s end I’ll taste the fruit of this time, even if in the heat of it, I cannot.
Sure wouldn’t mind some rain, though, in the meantime.
Stay hydrated,
Kristine, I could so vividly picture you there in the garden (I have two beds--roses and perennials) and the need for water is a daily concern.
When I kept reading the word 'hunted' throughout your lines I was intrigued. Then with your explanation it all made sense.
Hoping you've had some precipitation come to that part of the world... and yes, even here in Seattleland this morning's weather is changing--I can feel it.
We'll blink and Fall will be here.
Thank you for sharing Kristine. I loved hearing your poem!! I could use some rain.