Summer, Baby

By Laura Izabela

I know my truths, half —

truths, quarter truths, all truths.

I’ve learned my prayers off

by heart. Even this heat cannot

deceive me. Even in this heat,

I know it’s December.

I bite into an apple and it melts

inside my mouth like beeswax, a candle.

Happy birthday —

My mind is a hive full of wasps.

Happy birthday —

I am dying. I am dying again.

I eat myself like paper when I’m done.

Oh dear, oh God, oh my sister:

I am the one with no words.

The summer sun scurries around me

like a family of rabid rats.  

The hateful, unabashed July sun,

the scorching liar sun. They cut

my mother in half like a piece of ham

to let me see you. And for what?

Ice, ice. Nothing but ice.

In this season of love,

all tears were frozen moonlight.

© 2019 harana poetry

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