THE SUMMER THIS BODY TURNS 16 I’M GONNA
BE NOTHING MORE THAN A SOUNDLESS PLEA–
TURN MY KNEES JAM-SMEARED AGAINST CHAINLINK
FENCES & CHLORINE DIVOTS & A FALLEN GOD’S WORD.
& I don’t know, love, I’d like to say I understand Judas
but you know how it goes on and on. what
confuses me, really, is how every
damn year my words fly out of me
endlessly like locusts in a plague & I
& I CAN NEVER FIND MYSELF AGAIN. IF
THERE ARE ANGELS ROAMING THE STREETS I’LL LET THEM BUY ME A DRINK. I’LL FIT THEIR NAMES BETWEEN
THE RIDGES OF MY TEETH, BETTER THAN MY OWN TO
find myself hanging laundry & doing
grossly normal things. Somehow, the phone
hasn’t stopped ringing– I haven’t started answering either.
Instead I palliate bread with raspberry
jam, treat my numbed mouth with
kindness. Sort my mail, admit that every
love poem I write with “You” is about
more than one person. They say angels
now come in any form they can,
ornate themselves in thrifted bikinis & cowboy boots &
psalms out their car window. If divinity can
quietly shapeshift, I can too. Start mornings with beginner’s yoga or
reading a bookstore-fresh recipe book or even
saying your name again & again. The
truth is that there are no
ulterior motives other than
vowing to never turn
& JUNE WATCHES ME HALF-CRAWLING OUT OF MY WINDOW, DIVINE INTERCEPTION THROUGH BEER CANS
WHITTLING MY MOUTH INTO PRAYER & PRESSING
MYSELF UP AGAINST ANY WRONGDOING I CAN FIND, LIKE THE
wrong sides of knives against myself. There is no need for
x-rays of possibly broken ribs or misaligned bleeding.
Your last injury was a paper cut. Your last score was
zero, at least, upon the body.
SUMMER WILL BE WILD. / SUMMER WILL BE WILD.
SUMMER WILL BE WILD. / SUMMER WILL BE WILD.
Summer will be gentle. / Summer will be gentle.
Summer will be gentle. / Summer will be gentle.
Editor(s): Alisha B., Uzayer M., Blenda Y., Luna Y.
Photo Credits: Unsplash