eyes wide open
but they're gently shut

vermillion eyelids
and the smell of warm...

dusty dirt-caked hoola-hoops
and birthday barbecue hotdogs,
lines of black and smoke-saturated hair

10-year-olds on roller blades, bicycles, and scooters, dropping f-bombs and kicking pebbles.

suburb golf carts
and splintery playground woodchips
waft through the leafless pencil-like trees

daydreams of sun-naps on the sidewalk,
when we would watch the shadows of ants march across the cracks with driveway-chalk hands...

saying "no no no" with a warning tone
as she tries to lick year-old sticky ice cream stains from the pavement

that new house smell
somehow being better than you remember it

summer's grand re-opening

and we're all here,
then, now, and waiting.

I remember digging my toes into the thick, goopy mud in our overgrown backyard when I was a little girl.

I remember running home from the dirt-dusted bus stop with my siblings, trying to beat the shadows of the clouds cast by the sun.

I remember the hug of the summer air, enveloping me like a second skin.

I remember the fiery pain of the hornet stinger beneath my right foot.

I remember my older brother dunking his slice of watermelon into salt and taking a bite out of it, red sticky juice dripping down his chin and wrist with an absence of grace.

I remember hearing the off-key song of the ice cream truck, faint but within earshot.

I remember my mom waking me up to eat a steaming bowl of brown-sugared oatmeal in the middle of the night, just because.

I remember the thud of his loving heartbeat against the bumpy skin of my warm chest.

I remember jumping as high as possible to yank off the juicy oranges, the size of a softball, from the tree.

I remember her knotted, gray, no-longer-stray fur nuzzling against my faded jeans as if she’s always loved me.

I remember holding his hand, winter-wind-dry, cold, and skinny just moments before breaking up with him.

I remember the soft autumn mist, creating a veil of gray across the football field.

I remember how slippery with sweat my skin was on the suffocating bus ride home in September.

I remember how my dad packed his lunch the same way every day; 7 baby carrots, 2 granola bars, 1 banana, 12 potato chips, 1 bologna and American cheese sandwich with mayonnaise.

I remember his beige Coleman lunch box with the maroon lid, rough and smelled of plastic, too-ripe banana, and “Dad”.

I remember the thin skin beneath my eyes, rubbed raw, flaky, and salt-ruined after countless hours of darkness.

I remember sitting with my stubby girl legs spread out in front of me on the wooden kitchen floor, dipping cinnamon cookies into pink and blue yogurt.

I remember our first kiss, stiff and clumsy, but electric…gentle…and not enough.

I remember the look of loss hidden behind my dad’s smile as we grew smaller in the airport security on Father’s Day.

and i'll pull you along
until there's no need
as we run with whimsy along
the unbounded lakes

i will be right there
from sunrise to sunset
& all of the suns in between

our summer captured in seconds
until september ends,
we'll replay it until the curtain closes

a summer felt
in toes buried deep in the hot sand,
in cinnamon roll icing on the tips of our tongues,
in the tall grass that makes our legs itch,
& in the sting from a day spent too long beneath the sun

i'll hold your hand
as we drive through those trees
with the same sultry breeze
running wild through your sandy hair

a summer
through a camera lens,
where the glances are noticed only by
you & me

the graze of your fingertips
turn me wild, maddened with deepened
desire and fondness
as the road widens & winds

a summer
painted in blinding golds & puffy pinks,
far away from all the cities & dreams.
"this is one of our own," you'll say, as we build our house of hopes

the frogs & crickets
are no match for our harmony
& the unpicked flowers should be jealous
of the ones i will place behind your ear

a summer of
flushed cheeks & breathlessness,
fireflies in gentle palms,
& dandelion seeds scattered across your river

leaves with veins,
something so fragile-perceived
can grow through crack or concrete

i will move closer
& hold onto you tightly
even if we're in a sea of strangers

a summer of firsts
and exploration
and experiences

a summer of rain,
fireworks on your birthday
and sitting through lightning storms with you because you want me to

a summer of doting
and "finally"'s
and running

only this time,
not away from something
but towards  e v e r y t h i n g . . . . .