15

there is a quiet buzz in the grass
a cricket maybe
something humming summer
and freedom and cutoffs and warm skin 
and laughing into the face of adulthood 
because it doesn't have me yet

here I am
warm sun on my hair
tears on my neck and heaviness pulling at me
trying to pull comfort out of me
to extract support and love through my pores 
grasping
clutching

his sorrow consumes 
a ring of fire
destructive
pitiful
and I stand unmoved
untouched
unscorched

his mother is dead
my grandmother is dead

my chill keeps me safe from his sorrow
and divorced from my own