On the eve of a summer solstice
the superior court judge
heeded the death knell
that silenced and shrouded
our home
and signed our decree
releasing us
like school children set loose
by the last school bell
into unending freedom
hours that blur one into the next
in the sun’s white glare
the smell of warm grass
chlorine-faded hair
and fingers sticky sweet from popsicles and ice cream treats.
This year,
the strawberry moon accompanies our solstice
as if a day seemingly without end
needs a strawberry on top
to remind me what it means:
A night of rooftop poetry
fizzy prosecco
voices joined in laughter
friendships overbrimming my cup
glasses clinking to life and love,
music and muse.