Probably It Will Be Summer Again

one of these days, and if it is I'll swim,

bobbing up and down over probably,

it will be summer and my god I'll say hello

to people who don't live in my house,

it will be summer and my eyes reluctant after a full day

of refracted ocean light and dolphin-squint, or maybe

library and carousel and everyone's bright

skirts, bright sunglasses, bright burns and canvas bags,

I'll rejoin the perpetual chorus of We should,

perpetual chorus of Let's, my god my best friend's baby

who's talking now, my god the bay is still there

and I promise I will be a fool for humans and all

wild proclivities, I will gently turn horseshoe crabs

right-side-up, I will not tell myself Maybe a meteor

or Maybe a phone call or Maybe a sudden shift

in atmosphere, I will remind myself of mouths

moving in ways that are summer and of my skin

casual next to someone else's skin and the soft

salt smell and haunted house shrieks, and Probably

I will say, Probably I will make myself say, and I will say it

and I will say it until it is who and where,

it is who and where we are. 

—Catherine Pierce