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So far the nights feel lonelier than the days.
In light, the living keep me company,
and memories of voices through the years.
Each summer threads a green familiar maze.
Emerging sun-struck, you can barely spy
the slow kaleidoscope of clouds and hours.
Those flannel nightshirts chilly sleepers wear
as summer wanes: I’m giving them away.
Pass it on: you keep at the same time.
A bough has broken from the Duchess tree.
Rain swelled the apples. Too much lightness weighs
heavy: the heft of the idea of home
tempered with the detachment of a dream,
or tidal pulls, like ocean, like moonrise.
Copyright © 2012 by Rachel Hadas. First published by the Academy of American Poets. Used with permission of the author.
Rachel Hadas taught for many years at Rutgers University—Newark. She is the author of more than 20 books of poetry, essays, and translations including Pandemic Almanac and Ghost Guest (Ragged Sky, 2022, 2023).

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For some reason, this poem released tears. Well, I know the reason. It’s a damn good poem!
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Exactly. I often cry after reading a poem. I also cry during movies and while reading novels. In real life, not so much. Hmm. I wonder what that says about these art forms…
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I’m quite like you, Michael. I even cry at some commercials! Yesterday, seeing a WHOLE ENTIRE hillside covered in blooming nasturtiums, I had to stop the car for a good, grateful cry.
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Thanks, Laure-Anne. Nasturtiums… yes.
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A beauty.
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Isn’t a great poem? In this time of hardship and tragedy, it’s wonderful to have a respite to think about summer memories.
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