Summer and Next

Summer and Next

Summer and Next 1920 1920 Emry Trantham

That last summer my parents were married
we had an above-ground pool—
big blue circle of a perfect July,

envy of all the neighbor kids
who rode their bikes over,
propped kickstands and climbed

feet-first into cold. The water reached
my chest. We played Marco Polo
for weeks, trying to lose each other

in a pool too small to hide
much of anything aside from the
cracked side that eventually collapsed,

filling our basement with swift-
muddied chlorinated water. My parents
did not replace the pool, and by summer

next, everyone save my father lived
in an apartment. My sister and I
did not mourn the change

of address—our new place had
friends aplenty, and in the center
of the complex was a bright clear

pool, adorned with umbrella tables
and two diving boards. Tell me,
what more could a kid want?

Header photograph © K Weber.

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