summer of
returning from slumber again
and again. summer of bleached
hair and gap-mouthed soda bottles,
caps skittering from our hands like lost
green beetles, tiny jewels. the pier flooding
with weeds. we peeled open
like a sunburn, or a body
of water with only the moon inside it;
then remembered when we were gods,
which is to say, in some kind of childhood.
grabbing fistfuls of sky, breathing
without having to teach ourselves how.
our screams more prayer
than prayer. unashamed when we hit
the water, our bodies still
shedding their secret winter skins,
every ripple a new thing
invented only to return home.
Editors: Uzayer M., Luna Y., Blenda Y.