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Indian Summer This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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Freckles
Sweat and sun-bleached hair
Not bottled blondes against white
library walls,
disappearing

Bring back the days where you were warm and messy and human
Days where our bodies still floated in
humid, stained-glass light
Days where heat, our insides and our
outsides and the places in between,
was at equilibrium

When light, tactile and thick as skin,
could gently guide us
Let us know when to play our games,
when to say good-night

When we only had to feel a little sad
at departure,
because our curfew came straight from
the sky
and we could sometimes negotiate
something
a little later

And even
when we cried,
and complained and pouted,
we were communicating with stars

Now light shines artificially, much too late,
and in colors that don't make sense
Now it feels silly to search for stars
with indoor eyes already dazzled,
already filled with false sun-stroke

But at least,
walking toward
your station wagon,
when my eyes burn
dry and squinty and small,
these heaps of snow sometimes thaw
into endless banks of white-sand beach

And when covered in the frozen residue of waves perpetually crested and frothed
even ice-encrusted concrete can burn numb skin to a smolder
Remind us that we're still delicate,
and sentient,
and maybe even
a little beautiful

And anyway, our downy coats still touch,
and our white clouds of breath still mingle,
and that can be an Indian summer in itself

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.




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