It's July

It’s July. The washing dries easy on the line outside,
sunlight glimmers on the knapweed and the clover and
the sweet peas as they all take their turns in the light.
It takes a lot to be joyful in times like these; a strange
kind of stubbornness, a wilful “fuck you”. It takes a lot
to notice how sweet the evening breeze feels as it kisses
my hair, the fresh smell of clean laundry drying in the sun,
the discernable mellowing of green to gold as the wheel
turns again towards the dog days. It takes a special sort
of person to be alive now. To hold the madness in one
hand and the magic in the other, to breathe and pay
attention and to keep swimming anyway. It’s been said
before that we were made for these times, but truth be told
I’m not sure I’ve got what it takes - still, here I am noticing
how the sun feels on my skin as I take the pegs one by one
from the line on a calm evening in midsummer, feeling
glad and sorry and hopeless and mystified, thinking maybe
this is what it feels like to be taking my turn in the light.

Note: the poem refers to the words of Clarissa Pinkola Estes, “My friends, do not lose heart. We were made for these times.”

I haven’t written many poems lately, but this one arrived all at once as I was taking in the washing yesterday evening. Thank you so much for reading 🧡