Rosalie Hendon
Adult Montage
We were at a bar.
It was late afternoon, the golden hour.
Athens sunlight slid in the windows,
glazing our shoulders.
Intoxicated with our legality,
with the sophistication
of ordering a drink with friends at 4 p.m.,
heels dangling from the stools.
Oh, so this is being an adult.
This carefree freedom
to sip slowly, savoring.
This taste on the tongue.
This buoyancy in the chest.
Finally feeling part of the scene,
that part of the montage
where everyone is laughing.
August Dusk
That time of year you realize
the days are shortening
Air full of summer sounds:
cicadas, the neighbor’s radio,
a mosquito’s whine
The streetlight is on
Halo of bright light casts shadows
on the darkened porch
The end of summer is nostalgic
Kids back in school,
cool mornings laced with dew
The turn of the seasons,
the inevitability of winter
The gentleness of the breeze
makes your eyes close
