summers
have always been
Magical
for me

as a child
wandering around lands i probably shouldn’t have been wandering around
sneaking past “no trespassing” signs
set against hunters’ blinds
(but no one was ever there when i was there;
November is the time for guns,
June, July, August the time for fairies in human form),
skirting around soy bean farms
before ‘soy’ was even a word in my vocabulary
(‘fuzzy beans,’ i used to call them),
crossing tiny creeks
jumping or wading
watching waterbugs skitter past
breathing in the hot air
staying mostly under trees
to avoid the [inevitable] tomato red sunburn
sometimes with friends
but most of the time with myself
speaking stories out loud
creating both sides of dialogue on the tip of my own one tongue
the endless tales of magic
and friendship
and exploration
my companions
for whole summers.

as an adult, most summers have come and gone
but there have been
two
that have held even more magic:

at twenty-two
i was dumped
one month shy of a five-year anniversary
and my personality had become contingent
on hers
and the April breakup,
the steady flow of May tears
somehow passed into a
June/July/August
of friendship and finding myself
truly feeling my emotions for the first time since i was
seventeen
(perhaps even farther back, because of, you know, the trauma;
perhaps feeling emotions fully for the first time since i was
eleven),
and i felt the good and the
bad
the joy and the
sorrow
the bitterness and the
love.
and i found that friendship didn’t need to stay braced on the one side of
platonic
and i found that i could be myself, silly, joyful, tearful, and loud
and sociable
in a way i’d never felt before
(always having been on the outside,
the observer,
the child alone in the field talking to themselves making up worlds and adventures…)
there was a magic in that summer
i don’t think i could accurately name,
a friendship, a late adolescence, a very slight hedonism, but a care for self and others,
that was my first adult magic summer
(The Summer Of No Egrets)

at twenty-seven
(plus 3)
my spouse and i moved to the city that never sleeps,
and after celebrating my twenty-seventh birthday for the fifth time
we looked forward to getting settled over the winter
and truly getting to know the city in the spring.
and then a global pandemic happened.
time stood damn near still
most people home, waiting
two weeks turned into four, which turned into another month, then another
until we were ‘working from home’ ‘indefinitely.’
and as an actor
one who works gig by gig,
long, spacious times between each production
(zoom replacing stages,
closets full of sweaters replacing in-person sound booths),
i had plenty of time to watch the tides from our living room,
cheer at 7 for those putting their lives on the line to keep the city as healthy as possible,
and one day, after an endless string of Black men (and women, and children, and trans women and trans men and nonbinary folks…) being
killed
murdered
by the hands of those who white america thinks are here for
“protection,”
the nation broke,
the city
erupted.
i was aware as far as national news,
but a contingent marched past our building
and i felt foolish for not having been among them,
so i did my research,
and joined in marches,
across downtown Brooklyn,
where healthcare workers stood outside their workplaces
and cheered for us, on the front lines, trying to make the city
safer
than originally thought possible,
blocking traffic in Manhattan,
listening to folks of color
tell me tales,
speak words that
i knew logically,
but hadn’t thought of
emotionally.
and a full scale revolution erupted.
i watched as those in power were given
full riot gear
as we peacefully chanted to the sky
“i don’t see no riots here.”
taking knees,
holding space,
coming in white
staying in silence,
listening
and listening
and listening
and watching
and observing
and protecting
and seeing how a world could be better
the magic of that summer,
of a whole damn city coming together
to say that Black Lives do matter
and they matter
to us
every day
for an entire summer…
and while i wasn’t able to be out there every day,
i still felt the magic
that there was more than just me,
i was one amongst many;
the full power wasn’t in my face,
but mine as one in a sea of faces
so many you could no longer pick out just one
and everyone was invigorated
and everyone was excited
and everyone was yelling/chanting/singing in their hearts
and i was able to see
what community looks like.
the magic
of what community looks like.

i don’t have a good ending
for this poem.
but i think,
upon some months of reflection
after the initial fingertips to keyboard keys
musings of these magics
one idea stands out a little farther than the others:
it’s the people.

the magic of my childhood summers was based
[primarily]
in isolation,
the feeling of needing a break
from the ever loud and sociable days of school
forced by law to be there
day after day after day after day after day,
and that break was necessary.

but the magic of my adulthood summers
is based absolutely entirely
in community
in coming together
in observing and living
the ideal of what togetherness means

(and maybe my childhood summers weren’t about isolation at all,
but instead creating the community i needed,
that i hand’t found yet
in my mind…)

but please, as we get back to a reality
that is about to endure the difficult (for me) transition
From August to September,
from summer to fall,
remember that people are important
and the magic is in
togetherness,
and find your community in
whatever way and place suits you best,
and donate some money or time
to a Black-led organization
today.