June 

(inspired by “July” by Cecilia Llompart)

In death, I asked to be sent back to June

to sit in my room with the windows open

one last time. But the possibility of doing

anything more is as oppressive as the heat,

which stands on my scalp with steel-toed boots

until it’s raw, and leaves my shoulders tender

as spoiled strawberries. Much of June

is spoiled in the end because it endures 

like a broken refrigerator. The light still 

works, but it’s a museum for ruin which 

I longed to sit with—and watch turn dark—

behind the breeze pushing past my window. 

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