Every listless summer I become sun-bleached—
colorless, through and through. I wait

at the windowsill, tossing against the pane
trapped in the softening heat

with only a promise to hold on to.
I can feel June— yes, June,

as flight slips away a stray feather,
floating away and out of reach.

My wings return to the dust
I was promised I would become.

---

Piper S. McKeever is a poet, philosophy student at Reed College, and a strong proponent of the American sonnet. You can keep up with her work at pipermckeever.com.