The Heat of the Summer JR Smalling Watermelon juice dripping down my chin, banjo’s strum and acoustic’s whims accompanied by the hum of cicadas, faint laughter, the feeling of freedom, and a fear of the end. Stagnant heat pours over me as humidity’s embrace ushers in our trial of sin. Summer was different when we were kids, innocence cloaked us from the world’s truth, our young hearts we did not lose. Yes, it was youth that hid me and you. Something Lost | Gwen Aguilar
Do you remember when my dad would set up that yellow sprinkler just for us? We’d jump back-and-forth through its spray, rapturous joy on display. We could never get enough. Little rainbows would dance in the wind, painting our faces in iridescent light. Even when the sky became dark, lightning bugs shone in the night. We’d reach for them with our little limbs, and hold them close as we gathered their wishes. I put mine in a small terrarium—what is humanity’s obsession with caging what we deem beautiful?—but none lasted through the night, lost to hunger or suffocation. I found them dead the next morning. I made the decision then, they were not meant to be pets. I would not be the executioner of light if I could help it.
Beach Day | George Culpepper
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Phoenix Magazine
Issue 70/Spring 2025
43