younger julys

Meg Armstrong, Glyphs Contributor

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blue star highway, and faded yellow lines

head against the window, as cars pass by

counting license plates, and faded stop signs

naming all the birds and gazing at the sky

july echoes off the evergreen trees

eyelashes still blond, (i was not yet thirteen)

cheap flip flops that account for grass stained knees,

match red sunburns and hair stained by chlorine

long days filled with sprinklers and porch swings

burning asphalt and the AC on high

playing pretend as royal queens and kings

skipping while raining as summer flew by

tans that long faded; no more playing pretend

how i wish those years did not have to end

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