Maia

17

Sketches of Summer

I
We lie belly-down on the scratchy
grass, kick off flip flops
and worries, sip iced tea that tastes like
August. Words spill off our tongues and out of our
irises, strung along like a twisted vine
of Christmas tree lights, we untangle them
and watch them glow.
Leaves beneath us tickle our midriffs,
maybe that’s why we laugh with the wind,
lightly.
We inhale each other’s worries and exhale
comfort. We are symbiotic, exotic
like the sweet summer sun.

II
My body sinks into the fiery
sand, stretched out on the shore, sunny-side-up.
I soak up July and feel my skin scorch
as the wind plays cat’s cradle with my curls.
My hair tastes like potato chips, crunchy
with sea salt. The sun sprinkles freckles
on my cheeks and paints my skin pink.
Here time forgets its numbers and worries sink beneath the sand,
grains catch in my eyelashes and I almost don’t mind.

III
Polaroids stick together in the heat, just like
us, sweaty and smiling, walking quickly so the concrete
doesn’t burn the bottoms of our feet.
We worship melting popsicles and
guitar strings, evenings sweet as old friends on porch swings.
Bright nails pop boldly against white dresses and tan arms,
linked together in sweaty solidarity.
The hot summer air silences us.