Clumped in two

Illustration by CJ Sommerfeld

By CJ Sommerfeld, Staff Writer

The air bites your knees
like it did a few months back
and the spiders with stripes on their legs are migrating back indoors

and when you stand in the shade
another season collides with your skin
like it did a few months back

like when we had that secret barbeque
and the neighbor yelled Happy Birthday from their porch 
their identity hidden behind the towering alder
and the other accepted a piece of cheesecake that had begun melting in the sun
                                                                                               on a plate which they passed over the fence

and virus season is coming again
and we’ve been told who to argue with again
and we’ve been clumped in two

and we look in the direction of their pointing fingers
their pointing fingers
to look over there
there, look over there

and we’ve been told who to argue with
and we’re absorbed
and the air bites my knees and another season collides with my skin

and their fingers are pointing past my cold skin
and I look and we’re arguing,
look over there
and we’re clumped in two