All my Julys dissolve like sugar in my teeth
and I am searching for something to wrap
my fingers around, a story I can believe in.
Listen—what’s true isn’t always pretty.
Meaning what’s false isn’t ugly, either.
What summer limns into—prickle
of chlorine at the bottom of the pool,
blackberry juice slicked on our palms,
the coral we blunted on our lips like
an act of destruction. Summer, another
small mercy. The fact is every day
brings us nearer to our hour
of extinction. Last night in a parking lot
fluorescent with gasoline we waited
for the future to architect into being,
the floodlights bulbing blue in the
low fields beyond. The radio drowned in static.
Voices on the wire ribboning like jellyfish
in a current. I jellyfish into the fossilized dark,
dream of friction and heat. Sputter of dayglow
on the horizon. A bathtub calcified in leaves.
The barn on fire, its sides crackling
in sparklers of flame. At night, I go walking
in your landscape until I reach myself again.
Writing: Eliza Browning
Music: Stephanie Yen
Art: Helen Mak