The year is two-thousand-and-three: summer
has never been so hot. The hottest in the past century,
they said, though I clearly remember the same
being said last year and the one before that.
Summer has never been so hot and I’ve never been
so thirsty for life but I am sharp bones and scraped
knees and the world is not ready for me. The year
is two-thousand-fifteen and summer is pretty
windy, pretty unpredictable. They don’t say
anything about it: they’re too busy debating
whether or not I deserve basic human rights. I’ve
been alive for two decades, but life is still pretty
unpredictable as I throw myself a party
to celebrate the fact that I haven’t killed myself.
The year is two-thousand-nineteen and I have
a PhD or maybe it’s two-thousand-nineteen
and I am buried six feet deep; either way
I no longer care about what they have to say about
summer or life or me. I no longer wish to feel
dizzy and dainty and fragile. The year is
two-thousand-fifteen and I am
born again against all odds, and I am
windy and unpredictable like summer and
autumn merged together. I stop to pick
dandelions with my eight-year-old self
and I apologize for the years I didn’t let her
live. We’re holding hands and standing
in the wind – in spite of scraped knees
and broken hearts, we’re fine.
Melissa Benedetta Calzari is a 20-year-old queer girl living in Milan, Italy. She’s currently in the process of getting a bachelor’s degree in psychology. Her poetry has been published mostly in independent zines so far and she is working on her first chapbook.