July Poem 2011

by Marisa Siegel

And this is the night shadow behind every restless waking. And here is July at my back, forbidding forgetting as if the shadow would fold.

And do I recall shaping it, my shadow?

July, I had thought that winter could end you. (Forgetting how a shadow reflects in the sunlight on a snowy lawn.)

But I am marked by my words, of course in sleep, in sun, in skin.

I am not a thing with feathers. I am only a July wildfire, a laughing heat refusing relief.

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