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Beneath the Rain-Swollen Sun

Summer, to us, was nothing more than a scrap of time before monsoon. We worshipped it as such.

By Nines Hearst Published 5 years ago 1 min read

Snuck out to swim in the palm of the moon,

When day was undressed; the geckos would cry.

Sweat through each May and prayed for monsoons —

Rain-fettered crops, it was summer that died.

Swallowed down water polluted with rice;

Fields ladened with ticks we nonetheless roamed.

That was the year that my sister caught lice,

Laid out in the grass, she cried as I combed.

Ventured as far as our street would allow

Till dusk called us home and swallowed the light;

Back when things only were lost to be found —

I mourned the day, under guise of the night.

Woke to the cry of the temple at dawn

Ringing as if to say: witness the sun.

excerpts

About the Creator

Nines Hearst

Writer. A coyote in human clothing. Collector of red lighters. Profile art by Brian Luong.

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