
Flux Magazine
"Sweat" by Brooke Wrisley
I really used to love you,
October.
You were a chance to slow down,
to drown
in gray afternoons and
rain against the window.
Birthdays and candy.
The ghosts of summer
washed away.
Like a distant relative
met once as a child,
you tell me how small I was
the last time we met but
I barely remember.
I really used to love you,
California.
Even though
you didn’t love me.
I was in you.
I am of you.
& I’m still trying
to climb out of you,
you dried up thing.
I could -
(maybe) -
love you both
again.
Or else,
I’m trying to.
But in my bones I feel
the difference.
The deepest wrinkles
of my brain know.
They cannot forget
the change in you.
And then the sweating
sets in again.