Last summer, two discrete young snakes left their skin on my small porch, two mornings in a row. Being post-modern now, I pretended as if I did not see them, nor understand what I knew to be circling inside me. Instead, every hour I told my son to stop with his incessant back-chat. I peeled a banana. And cursed
Warm weather, vacations, and days of sun and the beach: June, July, and August (and the first few weeks of September) have inspired their fair share of summer poems. Browse our selection of poems about the summer season.