Coco

In January,

when the thrill of the holidays has not yet faded

and the snow still enchants with its glittering smile,

she flops into snowbanks and skids on her knees on the ice

of her backyard pond,

A wingspan of ash, she scours the sky for signs of a way forward.

Beneath, the writhing landscape of a future so foreign we cannot yet comprehend which color she will be.

The best part about summer

Is the nothingness of it

Lying on a blanket in your back yard

A book on your chest

And iced tea in a mason jar

The best part about summer is the Fourth of July

After 5th grade,

My bracelet

Was a brown bead

On a thin white string.

After 6th grade,

My bracelet

Was a green bead

My freshman year was sterile

I was separated, regulated

It smelled of hand sanitizer and soap

The hallways were one way only