My June

A Quiet Seasonal Poem About Home, Warmth, and Change

May 27, 2026

Artwork by Lin the Poet ~ June arrives differently everywhere, but it speaks to the body first.

June arrives here without announcement.
No ceremony.
Only a quiet drop in the air
the body understands
before the mind finds language for it.

The cold here is not harsh.
It is an invitation.
Come inside.
Slow down.
Remember what matters.

· · ·

My body knows June
before the calendar agrees.
It moves differently
reaches for warmth
the way a plant reaches for light,
not urgently,
but steadily,
without apology.

· · ·

The blanket becomes architecture
heavy, soft, specific.
A small world made for closeness,
for however many bodies fit
when the outside turns distance
and the inside becomes choice.

· · ·

In Malawi, June also blooms quietly.
Jacaranda fading into violet memory.
Bougainvillea holding onto color
like it refuses to let go of summer too soon.
Wildflowers scattered along roadsides
like soft punctuation in the dust.

The air carries tangerines.
Bright, sharp sweetness.
Peeled slowly in kitchens
where conversation lingers longer than food,
fingers sticky with sunlight and citrus.

· · ·

June is the month of food
that asks for time.
Warm, meaty, slow-cooked things
that take longer to make
than to finish
because conversation keeps interrupting hunger
in the best possible way.

Someone laughs.
Someone refills the pot.
Someone says something true
into the steam rising from a bowl
and the table holds it
the way good tables do.

· · ·

Outside, the mist sits low on the hills.
Maize fields rest in quiet rows.
Wood smoke drifts upward
from kitchen fires
into a sky the color of patience.

The world is quieter in June.

And in that quiet,
something in me remembers
how to be still.

Not empty still.
Full still.

· · ·

The kind of stillness
that arrives when cold outside
and warmth inside
agree, for a moment,
to exist in the same breath.

Held together
by a blanket,
a bowl of something slow,
and the soft permission
to simply remain.

This is my June.
Not the world’s.
Mine.

· · ·

🎥 Visual Poem
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