Feast
I love the fat of summer, flabby
green weeks when weeds lap
over the vague rims of back
roads, just as batter overtakes
a griddle. Poplar leaves wave
wide as cows’ tongues slurping
syrup-thick air. Here, summer spits
when it talks, gulps cold milk
and wipes a hand across its mouth.
I want to stuff myself full
with warm fields, hills tender
and round as yeast rolls bathed
in butter. Oh to scoop the ooze
of June’s soft eggs, consume
this season, lick its juices, chew
salty bacon days.
*
Jane Edna Mohler is a Bucks County Poet Laureate Emeritus (Pennsylvania). She won second place in the 2023 Crossroads Contest. Recent publications include Gargoyle, River Heron Review, and New Verse News. Her collection Broken Umbrellas was published by Kelsay. She is the Poetry Editor of the Schuylkill Valley Journal. www.janeednamohler.com
I love the imagery and summer music of this poem!
Love your poetry. It has definitely been a salty bacon kind of summer.
“Green weeks”
It has been lovely and you are articulating the joy
Your metaphors are SO lush, Jane —great poem!
So visceral; imaging feeling cold milk in my hot mouth, riding on crickety backroads and sucking clover stems for sweetness. You have enveloped us in the cloak of summer.
This poem activates my inner country girl. Deep seated memories of growing up in Solebury, PA.
I’m filled to the brim by the rolls, batter, milk, eggs and bacon of this delicious poem. 🌿
I feel such nostalgia after reading this lovely poem.
Luscious! I can feel the salty heat of summer as I read this indoors, and I want to wrap my arms around all of the images.
Just gorgeous!
Lovely, Jane! “Summer…wipes a hand across its mouth…”