DOG DAYS OF SUMMER

Ms Jasmine, praying for a breeze,

in my old front yard. Pup lurks behind the bush,

which is now quite huge and lush.

Jas is nine today. Those nine years went fast.

***

The grass, crisp and brown, dreams of rain.
Trees, bees, birds, frogs, wait,
suspended in a miasma of wavery, hot, 
swooning parched-ness.
Dogs lie upside-down,
hoping for a stray breeze,
but the air is unmoving, unmotivated,
has taken up residence in the hammock
and cannot be budged.

The day is loathe to quicken; 
the hands on the clock
tick desultorily; minutes later, 
you hear a faint, fatigued tock.

Everything that lives is exhausted
and hiding in whatever shade it can find.
I actually saw someone fry an egg 
on a sidewalk once.
He didn't eat it.

Once, when I was five, we traveled 
down the coast  to San Francisco.
Stopped for ice cream at a wayside store 
and I was mortified because my parents 
had stripped me to my underpants for coolness 
and made me go inside the store that way.
Even ice cream was not worth the shame.

We drove a short ways till people passed us,
shouting and pointing:
"your car is on fire!"
and we all got out. 
Dad poured the iced lemonade on it
to douse the flames.

When we hit the city, dad was flummoxed 
by the rushing eight lane traffic, 
zooming in every possible direction.
Opening the map, stopped at an off-ramp, 
stressed, impeding traffic,
he was chagrined when someone shouted
"why dont you build a garage around it?"
He never got over that.

Dog days of summer. 
Early mornings smelling
just as they did in childhood.
I remember the smell 
of Grandma's canvas hammock,
and how I'd curl up in it and read and read,
the smell and feel of bathing suits,
plucked, still-damp,
off the line,
for the next swim.

I remember
the time I swam during a thunderstorm,
the sky gunmetal gray,
the waves all mine,
lake-scent and willow-whisper
engraved on my heart.

for Victoria's prompt at dVerse : the dog days of summer.