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Summer Of


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.

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