Seven Year Summer
Bella Comer
Peach fuzz collects in the valley of my inner elbow and
streams of juice wrap around my wrist like glittering bangles.
Trees worn from restless conquest and toes dipped in mud
grow bored of swaying at the tippy top
of the neighborhood we reign.
We are seven years old and I sit in the grass of this lazy afternoon
with you and I am hot and you are hot and together we melt
into the green Bermuda of our world’s crust.
Days like this will never end because they can’t,
because we go to bed after the sky turns purple
and the cicadas sing us to sleep
and mourning doves wake us, beckon us outside
and there is always another hot tomorrow.
Me and you and you and me and everyone
else are always outside
and it's hot outside and we’re all melting like
the watermelon and coconut popsicles
between our sticky fingers, melting
like the ice cubes that clink in your dad’s drink
but we’re all outside laughing anyway.
At night we can feel the cicadas humming
and we run through a woods that glows gold
that we call magic as we catch fireflies in our sweaty palms.
With dirty feet I walk from your house to mine and I yell
goodnight but I’m not tired I’m never tired
but I leave because I’ll be back tomorrow
and so will you and so will everyone else.
Bella is an eighteen-year-old Texan with a deep interest in reading and an enjoyment of writing. They started writing midway through the pandemic, however didn’t start taking their writing seriously until they met their favorite English teacher two years ago. Though still a beginner in the world of poetry, they are eager to learn and grow as a poet and share their work with others.