Jean Janicke is an economist, coach, and writer living in Washington DC. She started writing poetry in the pandemic, and her work has appeared in Green Ink Poetry, The Orchards Poetry Journal, and Out There Literary Magazine.
When I See You Next Summer
Let’s swim in the lake, gulping breath
after each wave washes over our faces.
Let’s climb up the mountain with the sun’s rays
painted on its peak, swatting mosquitos,
side stepping roots, sliding on moss
sweating to view life in miniature below.
We will dangle our legs off the edge of the raft,
watch new sailors wrestle with the wind.
Let’s sit in rocking chairs, swirling chocolate chip
in melting ice cream like tea leaves, telling
secrets of the past. When I see you this summer,
we won’t have to walk in the dark behind a feeble
flashlight beam. Did I tell you?
After your father’s funeral
I had to feel the asphalt with my fingers
to find my way home.