September Waters

The late September waters

at our beach on the Chesapeake Bay

would be a lot more welcome

in sweltering July,

when the sea is like a warm tub

salted with jelly fish.

But as the Equinox fades toward Halloween,

plainly it's now last summer

when we frolicked in the water

hot morning after hot morning—

you, me, Athena and her stick,

racing her for it into the waves,

plucking it from her jaws,

throwing it out farther and farther,

fish jumping like stars in a Sea World show.

Now we wait 'til afternoon to play,

when the Sun's at the peak of the day.

The fish still jump for entertainment,

but we get the shakes if we stay in too long.

Soon we'll have to give it up,

make the sober change

from animal back to human,

watch the garden die

and the canopy of summer shed its skin

in the rains that drive us to shelter.

Put on shirts and shoes, find jobs

to get us through another goddamned winter.

If we can just make it to the holidays,

when at last the Sun turns 'round,

in the lengthening light we can stoke our hope 
with the vision of upcoming May,

when the waters will feel like September again,

but getting warmer, not colder,

with each passing day.