limoncello

yesterday i wore jean shorts and a white shirt with lemons on it. i forgot seven times that we aren’t going back today.

the whole grade was brought outside to eat popsicles in the blinding sun, blue rocket pops that melted almost as fast as this year went. the whole sky was filled with dandelion fluff and the vague orangey scent of neverending June.

we pretend we know everything now, that sixth grade has turned us old and serene. it’s funny because one year and two days ago we were still in elementary school.

i have four pictures on my desk of us. my favorite was taken at a birthday party and we’re all making ridiculous faces because we were third graders but really we still make those faces all the time. we’re taller now but our smiles are still the same.

school ended on a monday. it was a half day so at 12:30 we rushed outside, the sound of our empty lockers slamming for the last time echoing in harmony with everyone’s shouted goodbyes. we couldn't wait to get home.

on the bus yesterday morning i counted five people, three backpacks, and seventeen grins split wide open. the eighth graders and high schoolers left last Thursday. the seventh grade hallways felt less crowded than usual. sixth grade showed up half missing having decided attendance was optional.

i took a shower last night, lemon shampoo & avocado conditioner. i stood in the bathroom for half an hour trying to figure out what I meant.

i suppose it’s officially summer now. the world tastes of cold lemonade and the color green. it’s funny because this year i feel the same kind of numb as i did the last, only last year i cried and this year i’m just moving upstairs.

my best friend lives up the street and came over for dinner last night, both of us still smelling of chlorine from our hours in the pool. we made plans for tomorrow and then hugged as tight as we could at the end of her driveway because we might not see each other until camp. neither of us could believe it’s summer.

this poem was meant to be about lemons. i sort of forgot that my poetry never turns out how it’s meant to be.

anyways we’re done with school and summer is finally in our grasp. we will laugh and stay up past midnight eating lemon Italian ices because there’s nothing to wake up for anymore. 

yesterday i wore jean shorts and a white shirt with lemons on it. i continue to forget that we’re not going back. somewhere in Florida somebody picks a lemon from a tree and studies it. they do not know that it is made of poems.