I tried summer with my eyes closed
by Lizzie Skurnick
I tried summer with my eyes closed.
I tried it tied, bound tight as a bundle
I carried on my head, in my teeth
I clamped summer until it squirmed.
I wore it tied behind myself like a bow;
I placed it like a rose in my teeth;
I stood in its circle of light
And waited for applause.
Then I held it in my palm, a seed, rattling
And I blew on it to see if it was alive.
When I returned it had spiked green, curious
And I wiped summer off on the grass.
Summer and I shifted like twins in a mirror,
One above water, one slightly beneath
And summer was watchful as I drifted
half-asleep, the nights a roar
In the window. I scratched at my ears.
I pulled summer over my head
Roughly, I yanked it down with my hands.
I pulled summer with me over the sink and I spat.