The late-spring evenings start to linger bright;
we lounge and lap up sunset with eyes
now hungry, impatient for the glow of June.
The catalog of winter growth is written on our son
and daughter, the lustrous early summer rays
delineate each change. I am content.
So many things ‘til now could leave me discontent,
with uncertainty, but uncertain looms bright
and okay. Where there was not a ray
of hope, anticipation now lights my eyes
and dreams. I’m eager to feel the sun
and make promises, this month before June.
I can’t wait. The kids are mine, too, come June;
my turn to own words like happy, content,
and bear witness daily to our story—Son,
Daughter, Father, Mother. Bright,
easy days, days where she and he and he and I
live limitless. Liberated. No obligations, only an array
of choices. Joined together. Gone are the days greyed
with bleeding pain. Certainly, come June,
progression ends the mire. No nays, just ayes
of affirmation, maturity. Yes, the content
of your union is sound. Yes, your family, bright
children, deserves stability. Daughter and son.
We’ll do this. We’ll show him, our son,
that marriage, like the fickle rays
in rain, returns, radiates confident and bright.
We’ll gift our daughter joyful june-
bug glee that comes from feeling content,
secure, safe in a promise. She’ll hear I
do. I do forever, and so say his green eyes
for me. We advance, we commit. My daughter, my son
my husband, us. We know. We accept. Content
is not Utopia. It’s strife and struggle with rays
of elation, like the first day swimming in June—
Possibility. Potential. Promise. All of them, bright.
My eyes shine, brimming content;
bright assurance lies ahead. The sun’s
gracious rays warm this month before June.