June Tomorrow

November. December now. June tomorrow. Like it means anything for the sun to circle around me as tiny bodies in a horse tank— whipping us with as much force as we can make— watch for the sharp edges— it’ll cut you. Soon it’s August and I have a little more color and I cry a little less. I’m wearing the jeans my friend gave me at her birthday party three years ago and I like the way I’ve filled them out since. (We’re back in pre-June now). I like the way I look to strangers. I’m not sure if that includes me. Anyway it’s Halloween next week. Christmas is in a few hours. February comes and goes while I’m asleep and I don’t feel its hand on my shoulder. I pack my things in April. We’ll have to donate the memories. There isn’t enough room anymore and the sun is coming up on the kitchen walls. It’s June tomorrow.

— ODH