Late August
By Ilse Kramer
I sift through the ashes of summer
Looking for something worth saving
Like a broken planter
On my lost wedding ring.
I watch the children
They have legs
The color of June bugs
From days under the salty sun
The dogs are cross-eyed
Still looking
For sticks
To retrieve
Pear-shaped rain drops
Fall on the Adirondack chairs
The wasps do
Not mind
As I do not mind
The loss of my wedding band
I sift through the ashes
Of summer