I hear the cymbal brush—
a gust through the pines to the west.
I grab the stem
of my shade umbrella to keep it
from flying. The wind reaches the tops
of the two tall trees to the east, their mounded
shapes like side-tipped butterfly wings, eolian
forewing and hindwing cupping and clapping
in flexible figure eights as if
the movement could pull them
into the sky. Silver-green scales refract
the summer evening light, slow it down, Sunday sunset
pouring out like simple syrup. If I let go
of the umbrella, I might catch
the shimmer, might keep it. Might
pin it to a board. Would it be such a sin
to keep for myself the sweet of summer?
—
Sara Dovre Wudali is a 2023–2024 Loft Mentor Series Fellow in poetry and has received support from the Minnesota State Arts Board and the Metropolitan Regional Arts Council. Her poems and essays have been published in literary journals such as under the gum tree, Barrelhouse, and Blood Tree Literature. She is the editor of the hybrid anthology chapbook, All You Need Is One Avocado.
