Anjeli

17

You waltzed clumsily into my August,
all elbows and knees, almost too tall to fit through the door
I found you at a party,
under the blissful oasis of a spinning fan
I remember
your grin hung crookedly on your acne-pitted face,
those hands three sizes too big for your wrists,
the hair that stood on end
as if you’d jabbed your thumb through a socket
The whole effect
left my tongue in hopeless hitch knots
We wandered out,
on some concocted pretense
My heartbeat thudded in my throat
as I stumbled, numb-fingered with fear, in your wake
making sure not to tread on your shadow
The summer people had gone to god knows where,
the streets post-apocalyptic and pristine
Our facades unraveled as we walked,
palms slick with sweat,
wherever it is we’re going