good summer

because it’s the first year no one fought up north. because the days were ripe immediately — and we didn’t even have to squeeze. because we got ourselves a front stoop that we’d visit like church; all quiet and pious. because i drank myself younger and hugged people honestly. because i ate jell-o for the first time in a decade and pressed a handful of butter through my corn’s perfect grin. i let myself spend an hour counting the number of dogs and walked the four miles back home because. because i could finally hear the cicadas again. because you say it’s so nice when the weather’s warm at night and i remember you’re from somewhere else. because i can’t picture it any other way. because i’m so afraid to lose it all but i’m not afraid of much else.