by Melanie Claire Blinn Eulberg
after a line from a poem by Emily Brontë

Six decades later, June arrives
in a constellation of images…

Hitting the road before dawn
three kids in jammies
sprawled across each other
in the back seat
lulled by thrumming tires
fragrant Folger’s coffee
our parents’ hushed voices.

Eyes squinting open
to featherings of sunlight
noses to window
scoping out the unfamiliar–
twisty roads spitting dust
sheer drop-offs far too
close for comfort
lodgepole pines stretching
to infinity
a bounding mule deer or two
and finally that weathered
cabin encircled by aspen.

Car-free and scattering
Dad hiking off with purpose
and fishing pole
Mom sighing into the majesty
of lofty peaks and floral meadows
transcribing joy to haiku
my sisters and me
on the hunt for chipmunks
Stellar jays, butterflies
racing wildly through
green grass and dew-steeped flowers
each of us savoring the tea of summer
we didn’t know
we’d been thirsty for.

An early supper
Dad’s catch
of rainbows and browns
floured and fried crackly-crisp
as only he could do it
scent lingering like the layers
of blankets on our
shared squeaky bed
our breathing settling
to the rhythm of the creek
all of us out like
lanterns by the time
stars twinkle on.


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