Sweet, Sticky Memories of Summer
- by tagorton
August zippers along the desert,
closing in heat like wool jackets
Mom would pull around us
for cold morning walks.
These waves of summer vapor
coming off the highway
remind me of balmy Saturdays.
Families dashing across Mill Street
and along a beaten path
to jump headlong into the Feather River.
We would dare each other
to stand on sun-scorched pavement,
feet pruned by hours of Marco Polo;
we swore our skin was cooking.
On those Saturdays, the ice cream truck
would stop there,
doorbell jingle bouncing through tree branches
down to a crowded shore.
Our parents, sun dried on folding chairs,
lifted dollar bills without a word.
Even now,
so far away from that waterhole
and those stifling afternoons,
I can feel the ice-cream
melting over fingers.
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