Hey, abrupt. (Also, some weird math.)
In my other life, summer’s a superhero:
here in a moment and larger than life.
274 days spent waiting for
7,862,400 glorified moments of chalk-covered sidewalks,
red-checked picnic blankets, and
clouds of blue barbecue-smoke
that stretch and disappear across bluer skies.
39 weeks for
2,184 hours of asphalt-stained toes, and
iced-tea kisses, and
sunlight dripping golden through reading-tree branches that twist
and curve
and coil
around a juncture perfect for sitting,
but also for storing my thoughts, and dreams
(and sometimes)
the way I feel about you.
We’re pairs of initials carved into brittle bark
+ and = signs teaching the only kind of math I ever want to learn,
and it’s forever, in my other life, no knockonwood necessary,
just 72 years from now
to a girl like me
and a boy like you,
fingers tangling together in a way that’s
seamless and
infinite,
but mostly just
right.
*
Here, summer’s subtle, minor -
Superman’s eyes behind Clark Kent’s glasses;
fry-an-egg-on-the-sidewalk hot
and humid like someone forgot to shut the sauna door.
Small little gravel bits leave
small little impressions on heels
and tree trunk confessions go unscratched
because in real life, there are no initials
-and even if there were-
yours are still a mystery
and if I’m honest,
some days mine are too.
...