First Summer

First Summer

Authenticity opens.
Fragrant freedom lies before me.
In longed for, languid, lilting wafts
rodeos, barbeques, country concerts.
Such simmering promise of sensuous summer.

There will be no more
raining thud of fists here.
No screaming and shaming.
No guilt prevailing.
The egg shells that cushioned cautious feet,
swept under carefully counseled carpet.
Piece by piece plucked out
from souls of tormented toes.

I stand squarely now,
balance improving.
Bare feet beating on freshly scrubbed floor.

This summer, I will not hide
my purple patterned pasty skin,
behind dark glasses and willed-up walls.
Hope clings to crests,
surfing waves of salty tears.

This summer, I’ll bask in warmth,
and dance in golden glow,
awaiting the tentative touch
of freedom’s first tan.