Summer Evening

Edward Hopper, Summer Evening, 1947 (via WikiArt)

Ekphrasis, after Edward Hopper 

when at last you crossed my lawn 

through the dank of late July 

all I could see was the way sweat pooled 

in the creases of your shirt 

the glint in your eyes as they scrutinised  

the fissure in my chest 

the pot of beans boiling over behind the curtain 

and how the moths quivered overhead 

towards a white, blazed end, then settled  

like ashes on the deck 

crickets wailed as if to warn us (too late, too faint) 

that already we were just two people on a porch 

and all those promises had lost their lustre

Published by Ruth Beddow

Poet, writer and heritage professional based in London, UK.

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