The White Album Summer


it was the summer she wanted holy communion with the neighbor boy more than the body of Christ wanted the hands of a lover to map her body wrist to wrist then nail it to a future where she could never forget she was the heat wave through October a wild honey pie of pores that oozed over-ripe peach a cool cherry cream looking for happiness in a warm gun a girl who broke the rules deep in the jungle of an old van hips moving to a repeating soundtrack a repeating soundtrack muffled between twin bed sheets where she unfolded her girlhood with ears cocked to the slam of a mother’s car door and though she never did it in the road there was the forest behind her house where she came out to play then walked home to bathe in brackish green water


First published in Cirque, A Literary Journal for the North Pacific Rim-Summer Solstice 2015. Nominated for a Pushcart Prize.