always August

It was August, always August,
when the heat rose as the sun
stretched out its fingers
and you scrambled up the apple tree,
chasing after those last rays of summer.

I never followed, afraid of falling,
always tethered to the ground.
You teased me from your perch,
hanging upside down, your mouth
open with laughter—

and oh how I wanted to touch you,
to tell you things, to kiss you.

Later that day you carved our initials
in that old gnarled tree; “friends forever,”
it read, and we smeared blood
from pricked fingers over the living wood,
sealing the pact with a handshake
and two lopsided grins—

and oh how I wanted to touch you again,
to tell you things, to kiss you.

But it was August, always August,
when the fruit fell from the trees
and smoke lingered over scorched hills.
Your initials remained, carved
upon my secret heart,
though you would never chase me
like you chased after that blistering sun.

 

Copyright © 2012 by Christopher Chaffin – All rights reserved

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About cjchaffin

Wordsmithing is my passion. I eat, sleep, and breathe words and phrases, only to regurgitate them and pray that they are better off than when I first ingested them.
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6 Responses to always August

  1. This is so beautiful. It reminds me of a childhood friend of mine, whom I will never forget. I’m so glad I found this.

  2. Tami says:

    Cool! I don’t always read poetry, but when I do it’s awesome poetry from cjchaffin!

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