by Rachel Nicholson
Walking barefoot on the pavement, my soles begin to melt.
It sings of the dirt that came before it—
It hums with heat and memory.
Do I thrive on purposeful pain?
It’s a difficult thing to decipher.
I used to stand on the cracked pool tennis courts as a child,
dripping chlorine
Playing who-can-stand-the-longest
Before running to the shack for five cent popsicles
Bright fake blue and pink,
On sticky hands.
And I wish for one, right now, for a nickel sweaty in my palm,
Reaching toward the lifeguard,
A “please” on my greedy lips.
© Rachel Nicholson
Rachel Nicholson (she/her) is a resident of Wilmington, North Carolina and recent graduate of the University of North Carolina Wilmington, where she earned her B.F.A. in Creative Writing. Her work has been featured in Atlantis creative Magazine and 2 Rules of Writing.
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