Summer Routine

Tornado wind rushes,

its fingers tangling in my curls –

yanking me back.

 

I guzzle the gusts.

Consume them.

 

My calves scream at

the gale,

blood pulsing to the frantic beat

banging between my ears.

 

36th.

Lee.

Galer.

Madison.

38th.

 

In the summer these hills belong to me.

I tackle them, huffing hot breath

 

and

 

thinking about the life we

left behind.

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