Before a breath in, it is there—
muggy, swampy, heavenly.
Before a barefoot step outside, sweat folds
into the skin and won’t let go

that time they write about
is upon us.
Consider this the preface
to a 19th summer.

Where you sneak around
drinking sub-par humid beer,
stolen from the forgotten bucket left outside.
The June when you finally get to see
what all the fuss is about—
a sweaty push and pull you’ve wondered about
for years.

Freedom is before you,
released from the shackles of high school,
from a love that came too quickly,
and refused to leave.

get on that train,
into that car that you can finally touch;
do things with that boy you don’t love.

Home has never felt more like home
than when you’re on the porch,
venturing into a midnight
that is dripping with warmth
and the knowledge that never again
could you feel this young
and this old.