Peyton

15

Summer is a Dress

Summer is a dress.
Clad in dreams, warm and fresh like sunrise,
Designed with other peoples’ wishes.
Taken from the thawed shambles of winter,
Washed, rinsed out
And hung to dry
In springtime.
Adorning our minds and bodies alike,
As we tell ourselves the fairytales of the ocean’s royal sunset,
Salty waves etched in careful foam.
Summer is a dress.
Waking up in the midst of a humid night, mid-July,
Clouded windows interrupted by raindrop rivers
We find nothing to grasp onto but rain-speckled window panes
Skies rolling like gray waves.
Rainfall in sheets
Washing away the romanticized perceptions
Leaving behind the season
Bare to stare us in the face.
Bloodshot eyes at sunrise,
Sinkhole slumbers reaching noon
Leftovers for lunch; nothing to drink.
August expires,
Closing like a mediocre novel.
Now faded, obsolescent, with edges frayed,
Is folded in fourths and put away.
Summer was a dress.