JILL DARLING
Linger Here
In the kitchen I was eating some cherries, delicious cherries, cherries sweet like candy, cherry candy,
candy with a pit, suck it like candy and spit out the pit. Sweet like summer in the north, by the lake,
cherries from the tree down the road, the farm inland from the water, the great lake, cold and fresh,
Lake Michigan and the cherries from the farm, many farms, so many trees of cherries, sweet and
melting on the tongue in July. In the kitchen I held on to those cherries like summer, holding fast,
slowing it down. Hold summer close to the chest, it melts on the tongue, dissipates like candy, cotton
candy, floating through summer.
In the kitchen I felt the breeze, breeze on the air, a fan overhead, smoke out the window, on the
horizon, wildfire smoke in the distance. A breeze wafting through the oven’s heat, roasting vegetables,
zucchini, mushrooms, the fan drying and cooling, breeze on my neck. The air in the kitchen, a memory
but intangible, nostalgia for the present, this moment but each earlier summer moment. In the kitchen,
remembering the outside or on the porch away from the oven, the roasting, remembering this moment
again, cocktails on the porch, fresh cherries, the sweet air a bit heavy with moisture but early evening
summer a slight breeze, the quiet of July, a bit of stillness.
Vegetables heating the kitchen, a summer delight, it’s July, there are no tomatoes. This moment of heat
and remembering tomatoes in the past and future, soon in this kitchen, tomatoes and basil and
peaches. Gifts of heat and sun, fruits drip with airs of rest, summer moments of stillness under the fan
and dreaming of tomatoes, it’s true the cherries won’t last, linger slightly and then turn toward late
summer, how the light in the afternoon over the garden and evening comes in, the sweet candied
cherries make room for late summer. It’s a tradeoff, tomatoes, peaches, blueberries, and shorter days,
basil and panzanella and cobbler and the slowing of August before, don’t mention it, what comes next.
Linger here, under the fan, in the kitchen, step out onto the porch, the air still and the second hand has
stopped ticking, imagine a new moon held in place, stillness like I can hold this cherry melting, like
cotton candy frozen in time but not frozen, warm and soft like summer, this Sunday in stasis, the plants
grow imperceptibly, under a moon undecided to wax or wane what I can’t see through the trees, clouds,
haze of smoke, a sweetness of stillness. A bit of breeze the heat lingers, it’s still July and green tomatoes
hiding under leaves.
candy with a pit, suck it like candy and spit out the pit. Sweet like summer in the north, by the lake,
cherries from the tree down the road, the farm inland from the water, the great lake, cold and fresh,
Lake Michigan and the cherries from the farm, many farms, so many trees of cherries, sweet and
melting on the tongue in July. In the kitchen I held on to those cherries like summer, holding fast,
slowing it down. Hold summer close to the chest, it melts on the tongue, dissipates like candy, cotton
candy, floating through summer.
In the kitchen I felt the breeze, breeze on the air, a fan overhead, smoke out the window, on the
horizon, wildfire smoke in the distance. A breeze wafting through the oven’s heat, roasting vegetables,
zucchini, mushrooms, the fan drying and cooling, breeze on my neck. The air in the kitchen, a memory
but intangible, nostalgia for the present, this moment but each earlier summer moment. In the kitchen,
remembering the outside or on the porch away from the oven, the roasting, remembering this moment
again, cocktails on the porch, fresh cherries, the sweet air a bit heavy with moisture but early evening
summer a slight breeze, the quiet of July, a bit of stillness.
Vegetables heating the kitchen, a summer delight, it’s July, there are no tomatoes. This moment of heat
and remembering tomatoes in the past and future, soon in this kitchen, tomatoes and basil and
peaches. Gifts of heat and sun, fruits drip with airs of rest, summer moments of stillness under the fan
and dreaming of tomatoes, it’s true the cherries won’t last, linger slightly and then turn toward late
summer, how the light in the afternoon over the garden and evening comes in, the sweet candied
cherries make room for late summer. It’s a tradeoff, tomatoes, peaches, blueberries, and shorter days,
basil and panzanella and cobbler and the slowing of August before, don’t mention it, what comes next.
Linger here, under the fan, in the kitchen, step out onto the porch, the air still and the second hand has
stopped ticking, imagine a new moon held in place, stillness like I can hold this cherry melting, like
cotton candy frozen in time but not frozen, warm and soft like summer, this Sunday in stasis, the plants
grow imperceptibly, under a moon undecided to wax or wane what I can’t see through the trees, clouds,
haze of smoke, a sweetness of stillness. A bit of breeze the heat lingers, it’s still July and green tomatoes
hiding under leaves.
Copyright © February 2024 Jill Darling
Jill Darling has published poetry, fiction, and creative and critical essays. Her books include Geographies of Identity: Narrative Forms, Feminist Futures, (re)iterations, a geography of syntax, Solve For, and begin with may: a series of moments as well as two collaborative chapbooks with Laura Wetherington and Hannah Ensor. She’s won awards and residencies from The Academy of American Poets, the Mary Anderson Center for the Arts in Indiana, Spark Box Studio, and the Hambidge Center for the Arts. Darling teaches writing at the University of Michigan-Dearborn. More info and links to work online can be found at jilldarling.com.
