By April Hanna

My cheeks still hurt from smiling
Squinting at the day-star
Balling my hands into fists and
Running across the lawn to
Skin my soul on grass
To get first dibs on the honeysuckle bush.

I bathe in sweetness and
Hope to never die I sweat and wonder what the
Insides of a peach look like against the floor.

I’d still love you
Brighter than marigolds on my mother’s
White-tile kitchen wonder.

I wish I knew what those flowers were called
That grew wild on your first front lawn.

April Hanna is a recent graduate from Ramapo College of New Jersey majoring in communication arts with a writing concentration. Born in May (not April), her work focuses on the inevitable humor that exists within the human experience. April is also an avid supporter of the Oxford comma.

My Head

Do You Love Me?