HOMESICK IN JULY

The winter is longer than I thought it would be. The summer is quiet. And there are never children around. I think about how the sun made me feel like a child. Maybe the cold makes everyone freeze into the adult version of themselves.

She tells me that she too knew cold. Northeastern winds bullied her, Taunted her feet till they turned purple Hardened her breasts tried to make her forget Caribbean breezes and the taste of Coconut water spilling from her mouth Onto her chin.

It is too quiet here.

I miss the sound of cars on the street. Why did I stay past winter? I want hot soup even at 89 degrees with 100 percent humidity. No one here smiles at you on the street.

Depression. I don’t want to believe Her words, but they are true. I know Because I felt it too. We are more the same Then I think I know. Spent my whole life running from home

To dream of rubbing my back Against a palm tree.

My fingers go numb in June. Hiking in Vermont

That’s when I start to think that I was not built for this. Abuela is right. The tropics run in my blood. We were made of the stuff of hot sand and spiced meat.

End of July.

Is fast approaching. When it does I will be back home under palm Trees. My Abuela will watch me as I run toward the ocean. She will hug and warm me with the force of a hurricane.

- DANIELLA SANCHEZ ’25