The swampy oppressive heat
Each August 17
triggers
That feeling
When anything is possible.
Marching between yard lines
Saddled with expectations,
Dripping with sweat
A signal of a new year,
New possibilities.
I am filled with longing,
A wish to restart,
Hoping to wiggle through chains of adulthood.
But my emergence flew by,
Captured only in bright pictures
And faded memories.
