i am sun stroked notebook pages set out
to dry on the grill.
dry skin and chapped lips dipped in sugar,
skin so white until flesh red
and the sun hid itself until the morning.
i am todays and tomorrows mistakes, clothes soaked in mud and forgiveness.
apologies on the playground,
rough housing in the living room and hurricanes in july.
i am the cup of water i put at the side of the house in appreciation of evaperation
to show mom how hot it was
(i wanted the hose on outside. she said no).
i am orange trees by the ditch, the swing set my friends played on and baby sitting kiera and brianna in the week days.
suddenly, i am fifteen years old and the clouds are on my shoulders,
the rain is tangled in my hair and i still know,
the sun will always find me in the morning.