Summer Sestina, 2026

On the last day of August, I attempt a sestina poem to capture the summer.

Summer Sestina, 2026

Child of summer,
sign of cancer, emotional as water,
and this, my forty-sixth year of feasts
of brightening and darkening sky
each moment more fleeting
than the last, always imbued with longing.

Like a boat it has carried me, this longing
sloshing in my chest all summer
June to August, months ever fleeting,
slipping through my fingers wet as water
hard as harvesting sky
saved only by the feasts

of the senses, actual feasts
shared with loved ones staved off longing,
long enough to perceive sky.
Far we escaped this summer
from prairie to desert, oases shimmering water
over flat road, everything green fleeting

behind, the Midwest version of ourselves fleeting
as mountains formed feasts
of sienna stone and ochre canyon carved by water
leaving us thirsty for more adventure, a longing
never wanting summer
to end, as vast as a southwest sky.

True, we nearly touched sky
returning home over the Rockies, shadowy peaks fleeting
one last sunset pink and gold, colors of summer
found in the blush of wine, a season of sumptuous feasts,
consume what I can to bury the longing
wash it down with water.

Back in the land bound by water
I sailed a ship under kaleidoscopic sky
hands steering the wheel, hands wringing from longing
for one more red letter day, kids on the beach at play. Yet how fleeting
the weather, how the wildfire smoke poisoned certain feasts
and storms blasted vengeful upon summer!

Still, I want to bottle you like water, summer,
capture sky on camera and preserve the feasts—
each year a souvenir to quell my longing
for all that is fleeting.

~Lisa L. Macaione