“I always like summer best,” writes Nikki Giovanni in her poem “Knoxville, Tennessee,” which went into the poetry box in early July. That southern summer she evokes is one of fresh corn and barbecue and church picnics. Here in Central Texas, there are some who still like summer best, but for many of us it’s something to be endured. Out on the street with the poetry box, the walkers come early or not at all.
We ourselves escaped, first to New York, where we shepherded our 16-year-old niece to a theater program and a record three Broadway shows in five days. And then to northern New Mexico, where we slept with windows open and lounged in the shade of our rented house’s courtyard. There, I like summer best. The evening light on the mountains helps.
Here are the other poems that I shared this summer:
“This Is Just to Say” by William Carlos Williams
Soon we’ll turn to the poems of autumn, but these summer poems offer the bare feet, plums, and unbearably blue skies that are the best of the season.
