I don't remember summers before I was
at least five or six but I'd
imagine
from the VHS tapes stacked on one side of the TV stand
with names like "July '97"
that it was hot
like no air conditioning on the third floor of a tiny house
and it was sweet
like the juice from a strawberry
all over a tiny
chubby-cheeked face

the first summers I do remember
were long and full of
bugs and soccer and
library books

and the smell of pine needles

fast forward to when they changed
from freedom to
work
in a world where I had never felt
so simultaneously old
and far too young
but still it was
cold water and cold mornings and
warm afternoons in a field
talking about nothing
that seemed like everything

and then it was sea-breeze and bus rides and
fidgeting through the morning just to be
barely able to stay awake in the afternoons
and the best field trips I'll ever have
54 hearts at the edge of the world
young and
utterly convinced of our own brilliance

and then?
too long
running and reading and breaking and
barely putting myself back together

and then it was four months
of the hardest work I've ever done
in my entire life
four months of pain and a deadline
I for once didn't know if I could make but
I had to, for you
it's
work I still don't talk about
even in the place just before sleep takes over
when you feel like words
are just a cotton-candy haze
and you could say anything
and let your future self deal with it in the morning
(some things
are locked away too deeply
to be unintentionally spoken)
(this is the summer
I only talk about
in bold one-liners
not meeting your eyes
because the only way I can face anyone
with this in plain view
is if I am wearing it
like armor)

and last summer?
last summer was long days of the best work
and long nights with the best company
when I didn't care how sleep-deprived I was
I only cared about
the amount of time I spent with you
I was
(I am)
willing to push back sleep
push open my eyelids
for another moment
watching you fight the same battle

last summer smells like
the ocean
it looks like a dimly lit bar, cheap beer and
a cheap dress, a clean white shirt
glowing slightly in the light
of the neon sign
it sounds like
music loud enough and close enough
that we can barely hear ourselves
screaming the words,
breathless and
dancing like we may never get the chance again
(it sounds like singing off-key and
a playlist that
hasn't ended yet)

I'm finally learning
to like summer