This walk, is a summer evening walk
through waylaid gardens.
I am sneaky. I glean with stealth in the coming night.
Stepping on thirsty plants, I crush the blooming basil.
I can smell everything. I can see red tomatoes.
I use my knife, against my thumb
and clip off some dill.
This dill flower is a scented firework
going off under my nose.
Then I was walking home with a bag of loot,
heavy, in the crooks of my arms.
I was dirty and grimy passing the hipsters at the WestTown pub.
Darkness had almost settled.
I felt lost in the dusk, peering at the black clouds of humidity.
Neither dusk nor storm could hide the pink lines
of lightning up ahead.
I felt like celebrating, even though you weren’t there.
Dill, tomatoes, a few curly cukes.
I am surviving summer and living underneath
the heat all around, even on hot jars trying to cool,
in a kitchen that is heavy with preservation of things you planted.