KELLY MCEVERS, HOST:
This August, we're asking poets to tell us what their summers are like. And now we turn to Charlotte Boulay, a Philadelphia-based poet. Her poem "The End Of Summer" is on the surface about that perfect summertime thing - taking a nap in the grass. But underneath this lazy day is a sense of dread. Fall is coming and so are the conflicts and demands of the real world.
CHARLOTTE BOULAY: (Reading poem). The end of summer. Waking face down in the grass her crooked arm is asleep from the elbow up. The numb shoulder, as if it's already gone, amputated in the dream she was having of frost or in that space in the mind left vacant for images from the news. The tracings of stocks on her cheek bisect each other - profile marked with the season and across the water the outlines of faraway houses could be any town. The calling insects can feel the approaching silence and strain to break it. Her shoulder, as it lifts, pops softly, echoing everything that came before - the IED, the line drive, the cherry pit, the plundering June bug.
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MCEVERS: That was Charlotte Boulay reading her poem "The End Of Summer." Her debut book of poetry, "Foxes On The Trampoline," was released earlier this year. It's MORNING EDITION from NPR News. I'm Kelly McEvers.
DAVID GREENE, HOST:
And I'm David Greene. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.