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She lands, leaving only dampened hands-- Evidence of her stay Spending her most memorable time urging a  barefooted girl to rip off the itchy black dress stained with sweat and graveyard soil. Such a sour cliché introducing me to June, my only heartbreak. Tomato plants bent in half weighted with ripened fruit, swollen large enough to split its skin, steaming in the overgrown garden. She laughs like warm rain at the way the fruit and I hang-- suspended. Growing heavier in the humid heat of yet another smeared dusk. Eerie breezes slide through the leaves, my messy hair collecting her featherweight secrets-- bringing still faced realizations that it's easier to hear June whisper "There is only one thing you can be sure of," than to empty the shallow oxygen stream from my tributary mouth back into her swallowing sea. Tides rolling in and rolling out. "Only one thing to which everyone agrees." The thing about June is, you can’t decline the annual walk. The thing she’s hiding is a tall ledge in a pink haze through a field of wild strawberries. Letting me fall with silent excuses, I am too heavy, and she too light-- "The thing is, everyone will die."
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Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
The Sixth of Twelve
She lands, leaving only dampened hands-- Evidence of her stay Spending her most memorable time urging a  barefooted girl to rip off the itchy black dress stained with sweat and graveyard soil. Such a sour cliché introducing me to June, my only heartbreak. Tomato plants bent in half weighted with ripened fruit, swollen large enough to split its skin, steaming in the overgrown garden. She laughs like warm rain at the way the fruit and I hang-- suspended. Growing heavier in the humid heat of yet another smeared dusk. Eerie breezes slide through the leaves, my messy hair collecting her featherweight secrets-- bringing still faced realizations that it's easier to hear June whisper "There is only one thing you can be sure of," than to empty the shallow oxygen stream from my tributary mouth back into her swallowing sea. Tides rolling in and rolling out. "Only one thing to which everyone agrees." The thing about June is, you can’t decline the annual walk. The thing she’s hiding is a tall ledge in a pink haze through a field of wild strawberries. Letting me fall with silent excuses, I am too heavy, and she too light-- "The thing is, everyone will die."
squanto
Written by
squanto
American
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
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