It’s about to be Summer now, and the city is slick
with the sweat of its own buildings.
The Flat Iron moans against the encumbering,
but still unsweltering heat & suddenly I miss the overwhelming
warmth of Georgia. The way it creeps up the neck & settles
in my jaw like an old friend or an older punch, the swelling not yet
gone down from the striking fist. Last summer, I spent too many hours
digging my toes in the hot Savannah sand. Spent too long shoving one heel,
& then the other, deep between the burning grains of once-glass,
until my skin hit the coolness of broken shell &
sand dollar underneath. The concrete here
is unforgiving, unlike the red clay dirt Back Home, where I
can dig, & dig, & dig, & the clay will never lose its rust
color, the nasal twinge of burning iron.
Summer Poem
venus knowles is a black lesbian poet located in new york. when not writing poetry she loves to look at birds. their work can be found in beloved zine, the little patuxent review, ballast journal and others.