Laura Dame

Mystery

Wayne J. Scank

30

Sweltering

Laura Dame

This summer is pouring me out of my skin, is dumping me out like I’m brackish wash water and time is the slimy, inevitable drain.

This summer is splashing through me like a child stomps through puddles of rain with muddy polka-dot boots and a red shiny coat. I am grey and loose. I’m spilled out and defenseless. I am tossed up in the air, broken up into liquid shreds of myself that are too small to make a whole —and it is still raining down on me.

This summer is a spoiled brat, and I must sit next to them in class and I must try to ignore the way they mock my laugh and I must not let the hatred for them eat me up whole.

This summer is tricking me into breaking myself in half.

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