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.

One thought on “111. Indian Summer

  1. This piece is too deep for my shallow mind, but I love the title since it reminds me of my first gig in the newspaper business. August. Little town with an Indian name. Maybe I’ll eventually be able to connect the dots.

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