Hi Summer, I promise to cherish you.

To make a long story short

let's just say, I finally got my life back

and thank god because I recently suffered a rude awakening

when I received a picture message from my brother

of a Vassar bug that had come to wreak havoc in my apartment

with its long, spindly, abundant legs

rapid movements, and general fear inducing grossness

technology never fails to (literally) disgust me

and it took me back to those nights where whilst I screamed & cowered

my roommate would calmly attempt to trap these horrific bugs and get rid of them

and sadly I remembered the night one of the creatures fell into my bed,

never to be found

how this monstrosity ended up in my apartment, hours away from Poughkeepsie

still baffles me

but it was an omen, that bug said "oh hey gurrrrl,

your summer is flying by"

Sophmore year is soon approaching, love life while you can"

I'm quite thankful for the bug (I never got to actually witness it)

I miss the summers when jobs didn't matter

and on my little street in Astoria someone would open the fire hydrant

sending a gush of frigid water that all the kids on the block

could run through, cooling down, filling up empty Poland Spring bottles

to spray at each other

and kids from other blocks would come

excited by the impromptu & illegal sprinkler

we would block traffic, squirting water guns and screaming

and on the days where the sprinklers didn't come to us

the days were filled with big boxes of sidewalk chalk,

hand-scrawled hopscotch boards with pebbles sprinkled on the numbered squares

while eating italian ices, that never failed to drip cherry red all over our t-shirts

there were the countless hours spent riding my Yaak scooter

(Razors were just too expensive)

rolling down the small grassy hills of Astoria Park and

playing with my Skip-It, watching the numbers on the dial

hundreds of revolutions, and I would be worn out

I can't find my Skip-It, so now, a decade later

I settle for sweet picnics,

I abandon the age old pb&js for brick oven pizza,

the frozen Capri Sun pouches for Arnold Palmer Arizona

letting the smell of the grass, and the cherry juice that stains my fingertips

incite my nostalgia.