Heat, Denis Johnson
"August, / you're just an erotic hallucination"
At dinner, we gut Spanish over green beans.
This is campamento español and we spend
10 minutes trying to translate the texture
of pizza cheese (frío? elástico?)
First night our counselor calls us
"gringos" and her laugh chases me
down the soccer field and in salsa
and merengue, while molding churros
in the deep fryer.
July, you are an exultation of sun.
You are the fervor of porch tea
and homegrown tradition. You are firework.
You are liberty. I have known you since childhood,
pricking my finger on your blackberry brush.
You are blue as fruit, red rubber boots,
you are white, white, white
like the hydrogen awakening of a star's core,
like gringos.
July, I was born in you
and still I thought if I kicked enough
soccer balls or if I split enough
Spanish verbs, I could be born
someone else for a weekend.
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