Crepe Myrtles

CREPE MYRTLES

by Cathy Smith Bowers


When the heaviness of dog days
has had its way
with us, they bloom
to stay the doom

of summer's end. Such Popsicles,
these crepe myrtles,
to cool the day's
parched tongue! And where's

the truck that brought them? The little
bell? Clang goes the
ghostly driver
and then is gone.


Cathy Smith Bowers is poet in residence at Queens College, in Charlotte, North Carolina. She is the author of (1992) and Traveling in Time of Danger, to be published this month.


The Atlantic Monthly; December 1998; Crepe Myrtles; Volume 282, No. 6; page 96.


Presented by

The 86-Year-Old Farmer Who Won't Quit

A filmmaker returns to his hometown to profile the patriarch of a family farm

Join the Discussion

After you comment, click Post. If you’re not already logged in you will be asked to log in or register.

blog comments powered by Disqus

Video

The 86-Year-Old Farmer Who Won't Quit

A filmmaker returns to his hometown to profile the patriarch of a family farm

Video

Riding Unicycles in a Cave

"If you fall down and break your leg, there's no way out."

Video

Carrot: A Pitch-Perfect Satire of Tech

"It's not just a vegetable. It's what a vegetable should be."

Video

An Ingenious 360-Degree Time-Lapse

Watch the world become a cartoonishly small playground

Video

The Benefits of Living Alone on a Mountain

"You really have to love solitary time by yourself."

More in Entertainment

Just In