Nostalgia in the Summertime
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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Has been replaced by a phone screen.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?
