Sharon H. Nelson: Global Warming

Global Warming

This year, different from others

in the long progression

of Laurentian summers

we store in memory

to carry us through winter,

bodies of water shrink,

shorelines reveal themselves.

This year, the hottest summer on record,

the corn stands stunted;

cucumbers are bitter

for lack of water.

This year, no one is grateful

for long, dry days for haying,

the early ripening of crops,

the extraordinary sweetness of wild berries,

the prolonged harvest

of what normally we treasure

because of the brevity

of its season.

Day after day, the sky,

neither blue nor white,

but not quite gray,

looks bleached. 

The Rouge, 

always shallow and sedate,

recedes by feet.

Sandbars shape

as it evaporates.

Parched,

the leaves fall early,

lie curling

inches deep

on the path to the lake.

Brittle,

they crackle under our feet

as we walk towards water,

for the first time in memory,

swim late in September.

Much farther north,

they say: the sun

burns hotter than it did. 

Here, we pick winter apples

in summer heat, knowing

they won’t keep.

Sharon H. Nelson writes about food, spiritual hunger, and cultural identity. She cooks and gardens in Montreal.     ...  about Sharon. H. Nelson