January’s Salt

An oddly mild month January has been, 
warm like the head of a newborn child,
the days brim with potential,
flowing, yet tensile.

If one was so inclined 
to break the laminar flow,
to seep into the brine,
the salty novelty
of new days and due dates and a fresh gaze,
they may find it to overflow. 

Potential calcifies when its spilled. 
Collecting over February, March, and April,
crusting through May, June, and July,
chipping at it from August, September, and October,
casting your tongue on it through November and December,
just to remember, 

how mild it was in January.  

The Summers of Adulthood

I’m a child of the hot July sun.

I couldn’t wait to peel a wet bathing suit off my taut skin after a swim. I wanted that first feeling of realizing the sun was still out at 9pm, knowing the season had just begun and anything was possible. I wanted blackened feet from being barefoot all day and bike chain grease on my calves. I wanted sticky popsicle hands that I would only rinse quickly under a hose. I wanted to collapse in bed after a full day outside and finally realize how exhausted I was. I wanted to put potato chips in my sandwiches. I wanted to sit by a crackling bonfire and feel the intensity of the heat. I always felt like I could sit right in the center of the fire and not be burned but feel alleviated.

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