Notions of June

By Evie Lucas

I June was a white lie, II June came jaundiced, festered spit up, III June 7th, IV Getting gas station food with you, junebug

“Notions of June” is an acknowledgment of my own nearsightedness and a celebration of the whispers that guide us to poetry. In spring, I could not escape June — the word furtively permeated my thoughts, burrowed itself so deeply into the cavities of my art that I failed to notice its ubiquity. June was a tearful month full of change and disillusionment, and it was only after it was over that I was able to piece together the prophecy written in the margins of my poems. This piece, and its story, is a reminder that we are the caretakers of gardens that belong to the Earth and its timeless processes of creation. All we can do is listen and transcribe. The photo (film) was taken in June and developed in August. A single splotch of black tells the story of the dust that accumulated while I waited for June to pass.


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A Green Lake Mourning