Lea Lumière

The summer that never happened


Wilted sunflowers rope through my hair

I try to braid the sunshine in

Through sand dunes in my head

For when I go to visit cold

Sea salt aftertastes

barbecued on my lips

As I lick the wind and wonder

How long the sea will last.


Ocean’s jungle sound tangle  me back

As I surrender to the turning seed

The sun burns a tattoo in my skin

Will winter peel off youth like that.


Don’t go, I squeeze the shoulders

Of this old friend

Like watermelon between my teeth

Leaves fall instead of lemons

And lemonade turns stale on the windowsill.


Things happen, you say

As winter comes dressed in its fleece

And I pull off the layers before they trap me

Things happen, but I don’t want to

Spit the summer from my tongue just yet

I want to kiss you into forever’s never end

Swing into its freedom ring.


This summer is sliding away

Like trickles of sand off the surfboard

In the garage

And no matter how much I try

I can’t hold on.


I was never one to like the taste of sweet hot drinks

If the cold must come I’ll take it raw.


But maybe I’ll let the radio stay on

In the back room

And sing

Of the summer that never happened.

Lea Lumière is a freelance writer from New Jersey who has been writing since she was young. To find more of her poetry and prose, find her on Instagram @vintage.blue