Another hot August is about to an end.
It’s been 3 years since I hung up the phone.
I cried beside my car in Target’s parking lot
after speaking with her that Friday afternoon.
Each day there’s reminders, as if we’d forget.
But I don’t see rainbows above the meadows.
A monarch butterfly didn’t land on a yellow rose.
No red tailed hawks sat on the electric lines.
A white Escalade passed me on the highway.
In a diner, a cell phone played his old ringtone.
Bright red tomatoes on my sub tasted extra sweet.
A boy walked in wearing a burnt orange Texas cap.
I heard Shameless on a country music station.
I noticed my wallet gave off a strong scent of leather.
It all made me ask the cashier- “What date is it today?”