another recent one, which i think i like. fyi: anyone who knows me, and might know who the "she" is at the end - i didn't see her. it just seemed to fit. author input aside.
The End of Summer
Every day of August
no matter what the mercury says
bears a chill. The days drag
sluggish through the haze.
They evade our grasp. We sleep
through the last of the warmth.
I will not go back to school
this year, haven’t even taken
a vacation, but I feel the loss
just the same. Empty shells,
cicada-shaped, cling to the sticky
bark of trees whose leaves
are drying, thinking of turning.
Grass, scratchy as hay but not as fragrant,
crunches underfoot like dead leaves,
like bones, like insects
on a windshield. I drive
home from Cleveland on the most
perfect August day. I saw her
for the first time in three years.
Everything was different.