Summers around here always last too long. The sky is made of trees weeping moss. I’m planted in the meadow, wearing my mother’s glasses, my grandfather’s boots. The mud on them traces back to the big flood. You come, wearing things you’ve picked up from the roadside like stories, things you cut in half and share with strangers at bus stops. I’d like to follow you, except I’m a scarecrow and my spine goes all the way into the earth. You light your cigarette and the straw behind my eyes catches fire. When the wind turns you give me an ashy kiss and go. I’m still left holding half your shirt.
–Art by Milan Vopálenský & Esmahan Özkan