First Day of September
by Megan Blaney
I wake to the hum of cicadas—
a thousand tiny fiddles
tuning the tail end of summer.
The air, thick as honey,
wraps me in Alabama’s embrace,
sticky with promise,
sweet as the tea poured over ice.
I have crossed a country for this—
for love steady as the red clay roads,
for mornings where magnolia petals
curl in the heat
and the sky unrolls itself,
a quilt of blue stitched with cotton clouds.
September arrives in whispers:
dogwoods leaning into gold,
peach stands closing their shutters,
the faint breath of autumn
just out of reach.
It feels like standing on the cusp
of something new,
like my own name
called across a threshold.
This is my month—
my birthday waiting just down the lane,
like a candlelit porch
glowing at dusk.
And here I am,
heart unpacked in a new place,
love beside me like shade at midday,
roots beginning
to burrow deep.
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