Sarah Rosenblatt - Poetry

    ONE SEASON BEHIND
    
    The coming together
    of two people
    in the middle of a house.
    Their middles touching.
    The trees outside
    mingle with the plants inside.
    Light comes through the screens
    and swirls into the hairs on the cat's back.
    
    Here they are--the summer at its height,
    yet they feel like they are just beginning
    to poke through 
    As if most of July hadn't just blown 
    in and out of  the trees and the mouths of the cats
    asleep in the red chairs. 
    
    Under the ceiling fans
    summer doesn't take shape
    until the red and orange leaves
    give us a jump-start
    on the flavor of lemonade.