In Memory of Absent Summer

(Summer was brief, too brief—
as if lost between worlds,
laughing somewhere beyond the rains.)

In our little corner of the globe,
There’s no Summer this year.
Between Spring and the Rains,
Someone stole our Summer—
Leaving behind just one or two brief spells
Of dirty, hot days,
Unlike any Summer holidays we ever had:
Tepid and stupid.

Children cried out in despairing wonder:
“Who stole the thunder out of our Summer—
Our Summer showers,
Our Summer rainbows,
And our Summer swallows?
Time?
God?
Or our parents?”

Even orphans must have their Summer.
Without her, how do we enjoy
Our revels in rain later?

I hope—and I’m a little afraid—
That Summer will turn up after the rains,
Like Dwapara Yuga showing up
Late after Treta—
Dragging her heels,
Sunglasses on,
Pretending she’d been here all along.