It’s June of 21’,

I’m sitting on my back porch,

The memories crash into me like a car wreck,

Can’t look away

The wine stains remain, encrusted on the tired wood

Ironic in their pure color,

They crack like the corner of a smirking mouth,

Devilishly telling me to take another sip

I see a monarch rest it’s wings next to the spot where you sit

I didn’t know I liked butterflies so much,

They always make such residence in my stomach

I didn’t know I liked the summer,

Warm breeze and friends that text first,

Or the rustle of trees when you sit outside to cry

There’s still ash from the bonfire,

And I think someone left their charger by the grill

Cans spill onto the raccoon living below

I used to hate the summer heat,

The stick and the sweat

But the shade offers sanctuary 

I forget I love books

The smell of ink and paper burns into my nose

I hate how my mind can’t think in a different language,

Like I’m kissing reality with a visor pulled over my eyes

I hate him now, his words like paper in water

Gifts of styrofoam cups and blank stares crowd under my Christmas tree in June

Offer me a slice of your orange and I’ll love you forever;

A necklace would sit in my jewelry box, static and unworn

Next to the clay beads and elastic bracelets of a sweeter time 

But the slice of an orange,

It’s citrus sits in my belly

Where the monarch finally rests its wings

And I realize how much I love not loving you