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Blue Marble Review

Literary Journal for Young Writers

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summer solstice

By Emma Chan

I want to call your name,

the noise ricocheting sharply like a shot around the narrow walls

and fly down an alleyway filled with light to meet you

midnight-blue skirt pleats billowing like petals, breeze caressing my skin

I want to secretly slip my hand in yours for a fleeting moment

as we bob along, buoyed by an effervescent zephyr

separating and coming back together, weaving like singing swallows

across the gentle cobblestone waves

the rosy hint of morning sun on your lips

and the fresh scent of summer in your hair

I want to succumb to the pull of promise

and prowl the bustling shopping streets of Ginza at lunch break,

burning up with the thrill of doing the forbidden

and the giddy excitement of being free

I want to run and run and keep running forever

in a sobbing sky

the gray mist blooming over emerald rice paddies

splashing in puddles and feeling the wet, sinking, soaking chill

and watching you fling the shaking droplets from your limp, hanging hair

I want to laugh like there’s no tomorrow

the air squeezing out of my lungs in gleeful bursts

as we try, and fail, to snag a plushie from the claw machine for the sixteenth time

and walk away with empty hands, light wallets and brimming hearts

I want to lean against you on the subway ride home

reaching up to tightly clasp the oscillating handles

and not quite being tall enough, but that’s okay

I want to press a soft kiss to your cheek

as the sky dims around us

holding a cup of bubble tea in one hand and

the faded smell of leather and eraser shavings in the other

I want to feel the world grind to a halt

hearing the melodic chime and the rush of crisp, biting night air as the doors open

letting in a constellation of serendipity

idyllic, infectious, intoxicating, igneous, ichorous

I want to lie on a velvet carpet of viridity

watching the festival glow like an ember of hope

a village, a tradition, a home coming alive

tucked into the crook of silent, listening mountains

seeing “大” branded into the sleeping valley with apoplectic torches

and the fireflies performing their sacred dance

rising up, up, up into the satin curtain of darkness without a care in the world

and vanishing as soon as their light begins to shine

I want to discover more

in you

and in me

than we ever thought possible

cradling the strawberry moon in our hands

holding the orphic fire in our souls.

 

Emma Chan is a sophomore at Kent Place School in Summit, New Jersey, where she plays the piano for her school’s Chamber Orchestra. She is a page editor and staff writer for her school newspaper Ballast. She loves writing and hopes to pursue history, philosophy or literature in college.

Filed Under: Poetry Tagged With: Issue Eighteen

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