It is the last day of July, and a blue moon, and I feel an essay may be in order.

     Every year as the days of July pass, and August comes into view, I feel lighter and lighter. July is difficult for me. This year seemed extra hard. I grew up with 2 sexual predators in my life, and they were around much more in summertime. July to be exact. Because of this, each parade, firework display, and hot day are a trigger to my subconscious. A signal to beware. I find myself deep breathing to calm myself from no present threat. Rather from a threat decades old. I was taught, raised, under a strict tutelage whose rules were, no telling, no fighting, no saying no.  

     Every year, I find myself feeling as though I were under a jar. I have no better words for it. Under a jar. Everything has limits on all side. My joy, my happiness, my calmness, my relationships. All under a jar. The colors are duller under my jar. My world is limited under my jar. I can’t smell the fresh air, or hear the happy sounds my children make under my jar. This emotion is what inspired my poem “From the Jar.”

From the Jar

Jenifer Lee

Emerging from my hanging home

It was my right

To pump my wings until they dried

To fly from flower to flower

To sample ultra-violet nectars.

And drunken from the foxglove’s brew

 -- seeing bee’s purple—

succumb to an orchid’s landing pattern.

It was my right

To take the risk of falling into sticky pools

On the quest for eternal inebriation.

I would have preferred the pin to what you did.

     And now, I have made it through another July. Another July full of displaced fear and anger. Another July full of deep breathing and depression.

     Tomorrow is August, and life will get better.