Gris-Gris, an online journal of literature, culture & the arts

It Is Nearly Always Summer Here

by Eric Pankey

The sunflower’s neck is not yet bent
Wherever one walks a cloud of gnats hovers head-high
Starlings break fast from a pear tree
Twilight lingers long beyond the tree-line
A deer and fawn bed down beneath dark hemlocks
A tense stillness shivers through their sleep
As the future approaches a dog begins to whimper