Humidity
March 1, 2023 | Poem and photo by Simone Liang
Say we could make time stand still
in the searing summer heat —
Would you brave the mosquito bites
to your ankles just for me?
I’d trace each bump into constellations —
Praying your skin reads like night skies
that lead me home.
We curse this place and praise the rest of the world,
passing nameless towns on the highway as we vow
to get away from it all.
Like it’s possible to abandon,
to stop loving the overturned pastures and
the crumbling lots and the cul-de-sac my parents
couldn’t bear to leave.
But I’m still terrified to inherit the fate
of the woman who never found a way out,
and your high school lover still
haunts the grocery store aisles, so I beg
for one last getaway.
And we swear we’ll never look back
as the windows peel away
to let in the sticky air one last time. But I know
I’m lying when I lean out the car and cut through
the humidity with outstretched fingers –
just like I first did nine years ago.
Sometimes I fear this town will swallow me whole
even when I break free from its grasp.
Like my love for you, I’m afraid
I won’t recognize myself when I pull away
from your arms forever.
We could trade drowning plains for mountains,
darling, but we could never love another home
as much as this one.