Grit An arm dangles out onto hot metal of assembly line steel, while rain laden air slips over burning skin and streets teem with water and melting hail; the perfect leftovers of a midday squall. Cars pass too closely and spray the grit of summer construction between my fingers. I relish the feeling of filth wedged in creases of skin while watching white hot beanstalks fracture the sky with light.
Aleathia Drehmer