to an end

a certain wind
curls around your wrist
as you sit,
on a porch.
the warm air
reminds you of other summers.
ice tea.
a dog stretched
out in a puddle of shade
beneath
a dying tree.
your mother at the screen
door,
holding another
baby
in her arms,
looking out
to the street waiting
for your father
to finally come home.
it's a sweet blow
of air.
you're twelve or thirteen.
your shoes
worn,
the summer coming to
an end.
as other things are too.