of summers frozen in time,
untouched by teenage wisdom
and glowing screens in hands.
murmurs of sunsets,
purple and pink and orange,
the sky painted
and my skin golden
from sweetly penetrating rays.
musings of lukewarm swimming pool
water, of clear blue and princess swimsuits,
of handstand competitions
and chlorine-seeped hair.
these all have a single striking similarity:
they are all truly murmurs of julys,
before the Sunshine was stolen
by a pair of sickly hands;
before the gritty soil under my wet and raisined feet
turned to nothing, to only a memory;
a single memory of july before
time changed and the Sun didn’t strike the sky
as noticeably and the smell of hollyhocks
left the air.
now we’re left with the after:
the july without red licorice
and tangled, wet curls
and dodging bee stings
and drinking root beer
and never wondering what a day
without our Sun would look like; a day
without the summer glue that made
july so worthy
of sentimental reminiscence.
and so, we are stuck in a cycle of
july without flavor
and i try to add some back but it’ll never be
equivalent to a sweet and perfect summer
before the Sun was removed from our sky
--Kate G., 9th-12th Grade