Nostalgia in the Summertime

  • Graphic Morgan Rahn-Campbell

In the Summertime

By Juliet Booker

The only summer we spent together

I drank lemonade until my gums bled

And ached from the sugary sores

Jag är ledsen att jag inte kunde vara din frälsare

I sat next to him in the afternoon sun

Until my skin burned a red so deep

It matched my tainted, bloody teeth

Jag är ledsen att jag inte kunde vara din frälsare

I held my eyes open under the sea

Watching his strokes for so long

Their lids stung and their veins swelled from the salt

Jag är ledsen att jag inte kunde vara din frälsare

In the mornings now I wake up

And smoke until my pink lungs lie by my feet

On the pavement outside his childhood home

Jag är ledsen att jag inte kunde vara din frälsare

Maybe one day early next summer

He will walk outside and pick them up

Wouldn’t that be nice, to breathe again

Jag är ledsen att jag inte kunde vara din frälsare

Nostalgia

By Sara Capanna

It is amazing how time flies

On wings of sand that seem to

Fall faster and faster each day.

One turn of the clock’s hands ago

You were bundled into a Halloween costume,

Running excitedly to a stranger’s house

To receive candy you would eat for months to follow.

The clock’s hands tick a quarter of an hour

And you are running around a cousin’s house

at Christmas, causing mayhem and mischief

In your velvet dress.

Blink once and you are here.

Halloween costumes have gotten short enough

To reveal the pale skin beneath them.

No longer makes your skin tingle with joy

Your Christmas list has been razed down to two lines

And you just want a distraction from the mayhem

That Christmas music you listen to

Of quasi-adult life.

That mischief that used to create

Alcohol is spilt across all the days of

Has been replaced by a phone screen.

The magical seasons you used to love,

Pandering to those who simply want to forget

The Polar Express taught us that those who don’t believe

Will never again hear the sweet ring of the bells.

In the magic that overcame me as a child?

And enjoy the moment.

Has my innocence evaporated just as quickly

Why is it that I can no longer believe

Have I seen too much misery?

Have I felt too much sadness?

As the sands of time?

Why must the holidays be subjected

To the banality that plagues your average Wednesday?

Why must I be subjected to the cruel dripping

That takes away the feelings I hold dear?

Of the sand in the egg timer

Why?

Why?

Why?

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