August, when the atomic bomb was dropped a year before I was born.
I remember an August childhood vacation trip in Canada with
my family
Staying at some motel near Montreal listening to the radio
at night with my brother
In bed in the dark hearing the horrible stories of the survivors of Hiroshima
Not understanding the import of what I was hearing.
August, when cancer took my mother I was still a child.
I remember in August being allowed into the hospital room to
see my mother
Ushered in with my brother and sister we are standing by her
bed
Not told it is our good-bye visit but sensing what is
happening
Soon ushered out again when my mother is crying softly as am
I.
August, when we begin counting the remaining days of summer.
I remember the glorious August sunsets seen on vacation in
Vermont
Staying in a grand house named Great Oaks on a dirt road
With a pond and brook across the road for a boy to explore
With a dairy farm down the road where I was welcome to
wander around.
August, when sweet corn picked fresh from the field comes
into season.
I remember shucking the back yard corn and picking tomatoes
from the vine
And snapping green beans plucked from the garden to cook for
dinner
Savoring good fresh food when there is plenty
Even as the days get shorter and the tree leaves lose their
sheen.
August, when my birthday is a time of remembrance.
Waiting my turn after my older brother in June and my
younger sister in July
My mother taking me and some friends to see a Red Sox game
at Fenway
Not understanding then it is too proximate to her troubled
marriage anniversary
We have very good seats behind first base and I can see the players are real people.
