I have poems in my fridge for the summer 
Icy cold crisp with bright biting wit 
bubbling nuances, steamy back lit 
citrus sharp, striking and fit 
As sweat beads down my back,
I have poems for that. 

I have poems in my freezer for the fall 
waiting for the thaw, hearty stock meaty raw 
bright pops of green,
frozen solidly on baby dreams 
As I watch the brown curls zig zag down,
I have poems for that sound 

I have poems for the winter months.
Wrapped in stained muslin, solid fat
Scented pine stanzas, red wine dances 
Slosh lush memory filled soups 
as the heater sucks dry my skin,
I have poems that deep in.

In my crisper, spring unreal green dream poems 
Rays of flight, hopes height, lighter nights 
scented warm winds, floral novelette swims 
quicker pulse forest assaults 
And the bird that once was deformed, 
sings into my cage.
I have a poem for those very days

Ilona Harker