I dreamt of August 1st

I dreamt of August 1st

drowsy and barefoot in the sun
i take a bite out of a mango
August has returned again.

august brought down trinkets
of rain with her. i imagine little kids
playing race with the crystal droplets
on their car windows as they
complain about going to summer
school.

I wonder how she sleeps. had she woken
up yet?

she had once told me to fake hiccups
when i think of her, so that i will
continue to believe in that age old myth
that you hiccup when someone dreams
of you.

we would always giggle about it
afterwards. the blithe sound still plagues
my ears at the nights when sleep
seems too stubborn to take over.

it’s the first summer without her. i wonder
does she dream about me?

i stand with my grandmother in the fresh
warm kitchen baking fresh bread to fill
the breakfast table, her chatting my
ear off about taking a much needed trip to the
farmer’s market as we had ran
out of fruit jam as i wonder-

does she still dream about me?

does she dream about us waking up at
5 a.m, me caressing her cheeks as
we talk in loving hush about going to
a walk around the city block and
maybe visiting our favourite cat cafe.

does she dream about us visiting our
parents for the first time, nerves almost
paralyzing us as we exhale out
chuckles to calm our pounding hearts.

i look out the mossy window squinting
my eyes at the sun cruelly shining down.

i stare at the running water down the kitchen
sink faucet. the chortle of the
neighborhood children at their swings
fills the silence up that would otherwise
scream at me.

shaking my head to break me of my trance,
i let out a deep breath clawing at my chest as
I wonder when will I finally be free?

when will she stop existing inside of
me when she has stopped
existing in front of my eyes?

do i haunt her every moment like she
does to me?

i lay in freshly rained on grass as i wonder
when will my rainbow come back to
decorate the blue sky.

the world ended for me. the world ends
every night with the farewell of the sun
and begins again the next morning

i try carving a new world, always a
space between the lines my
fingers caress.

an eternal slumber they said, she haunts me.
“Wake up, its August 1st”.

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