indian summer
without blinking, sunspots sear blue-red-yellow brands that linger behind my eyes. eyelids shut; i see warmth. yellow-orange-red-black.
sitting quietly on an old aluminum folding chair i think nothing, or, i just don’t think. deep breaths so green i taste the grass. mindlessly i scratch the chair’s dried plastic arm with my fingernail.
a breeze, pregnant with the sound of children’s laughter whispers by. memories stir and forgotten images become concrete.
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