111. Indian Summer

Tonight you were on the bench,
lining your knees up with mine.
It was familiar – so much
like other times when
we counted minutes
under umbrellas,
across the table, or over
railings. This night
you were wistful, a creeping vine
winding into my cracks.
“I am hoping for frost,”
you said, and I watched
the first leaf fall.
I let your head drop
to my collar and felt
a trembling sigh
radiate from your bones.
The swelter of August was receding;
the chill came in.

– Katie Longofono

Katie Longofono is in her third year of undergraduate studies at the University of Kansas. She is pursuing a degree in English with a creative writing emphasis. She is also the founder and lead editor of Blue Island Review, a Lawrence-based poetry anthology. Her work has been published in North Central Review, Kiosk, Blue Island Review, and Polyphony Online. In her spare time she enjoys Scrabble, scarves, and alliteration.