She wonders what it will be like
this summer
no streetlights
no errands to cross off the list
will the days dog pile
on top each other
a lump sum of sun and sleep
will she get the call
a meeting with clients
will she groan to the other mothers
on the beach but secretly
be planning her outfit
the ease all that pavement
the tense thrill of the pitch
or will her bones soften
with the rub of the sea
a gradual changing
so that only at the end
when the nights have cooled
and they are putting the picnic table
away for the year
will she understand
as she waves back
at the trees
that she has not let the island in
as much as it
has accepted her.