By: Violet Webster
Summer has come and gone
Slightly sunburnt and bruised
in its wake.
As the leaves turn
To their autumnal gold
And the wind carries the sharp tinge of winter,
I’m left to remember the little things
The smell of not enough sunscreen on a 98º day.
The heat of a bonfire singing your eyebrows.
The light from fireflies illuminating the night sky.
The bite of a guitar string.
The sound of my heartbeat
Beneath a layer of sweat.
I’m left to remember the things I wish I could forget.
Ode to a Mosquito Bite
A mosquito found my leg and said
No amount of acrid bug spray could delay the inevitable.
(Which soon became every summer)
My legs were adorned with the welts that no amount of itch cream could soothe.
How to describe the feeling of an itch?
It’s attempting to identify the song that lives in the back of your head,
It’s reciting the words to a long-forgotten monologue from English class, learned an eternity ago.
I Always always scratch.
Once the fall arrives
My legs turned into a road map.
The pink dots long since turned into a dull red
Scars left over from a life of sun and trees that have yet to lose their green.
Here, the mosquito that got trapped in my sleeping bag.
Here, a particularly traumatic game of kickball.
Here, my first love.
Maybe the Sun is Overrated…
Have you ever felt the all-consuming wet
That comes from running through the rain
With neither jacket nor umbrella at your side?
Who hurt the sky?
So badly that her tears fall for hours
Have you ever heard a crack of thunder
So loud it shakes your very bones
And makes the very hair on your arms stand on end?
Are worth the pain
If only for the promise
Of a summer sky
Hiding just behind a brooding cloud.
A girl places her phone on the windowsill
And carefully presses record
As the summer rain trickles off the pane.
I’m confused until she shoots me a small smile,
Explaining that when the winter comes
She keeps them as memories
Reminders of the summers that have gone
And the summers still to come.