july peaches

…the jewels of dribbling juice mixing with beads of salted sweat on a hot summer’s day is a potion for unbridled sweet vulnerability.

this summer i will elect to be delicate and soft in the hands of fate,

like a peach cupped by the hands of a child with the slow sun beating down in the middle of july

.

my vulnerability is not a curse

.

wind rustles the grass beneath my sandaled feet

i bend down to scratch my ankle

a red ant crawls up my linen pants

.

to heal a wound you must first stop touching it

but i itch and i pick and it festers

until each bug bite becomes a bullet hole

.

to forget you must first move on

but when i lift the shirt off my warm sticky body

i see a past summer’s scar under my chest

a sole reminder of a bite that once stung so hard

.

have i turned an ant hill into a mountain?

.

this summer i will elect to be delicate and soft in the hands of fate

like a peach cupped by the hands of a child with the slow sun beating down in the middle of july

.

my vulnerability is not a curse

.

when the juice dribbles down my chin and under my shirt, mixing with caked dust and sweat, lining the caress my body, creating nothing more and nothing less than a mere mess,

i will remind myself that this season will soon pass and the peach pies will turn to pumpkin and in no time i’ll be reminiscing of long days and clear skies.

.

my vulnerability is not a curse.