No More Real Summers

Caroline Hughes


When thinking of saying goodbye to my undergrad life, my mind kept going to all of the summers I have enjoyed as a child, and how it feel like I can never go back to a time like that again. So, this is my goodbye to adolescent summers.

The stringy web of the veins of

corn husks stick to my scabbed knees

as we shove the stripped green shells of

all of the sunny ears of sweet corn

into the plastic bags they came in

We present on a bent knee the

Golden cobs, and watched them

sacrificed to the bubbling pot

The first bite always leaves

runny yellow smears of butter

on our burnt noses and

freckle spotted cheeks

We turn our backs to our mothers

as they spray the hose up and down

the hinds of our legs, almost making our knees


trying to erase the sand stuck to our sunscreen

coated bodies

The pressure hard enough to hurt

when it hits our softest parts

I have canned corn in the corner

of my kitchen cabinet

and the ocean is an hours drive

without traffic

I have all the freedom in the world

to do whatever I want

except truly feel disarrayed

I want my summers to be messy,

like a bite of corn