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.