july is sticky (when the honey crystalizes)

stuck girl summer!

I’m stuck
Often on my bed or in my car or between words that I tentatively type.
I’m stuck between unsure and assured, 
in that time between 3 and 5 pm, 
the witching hours between bright, white afternoon 
and warm, orange evening.
I’m stuck at the crux
in the oppressive heat of July
in the middle of the calendar, my stomach anticipating the drop
of the months to come 
roaring down the tracks.

July is sticky.
Peach syrupy fingers eating fruit over the kitchen sink,
thighs sticking together in the heat of summer nights, 
the window left open, the sounds of fireworks now weeks late,
as though others too are still stuck days ago,
hoping the sound of small sparkly explosions will pull us back in time
to hold us in summer a few moments longer,
Five more minutes,
One last jump in the lake,
Just one more song.

My summer opportunities are honeycomb
pockets of plans and dreams in orderly hexagonal rows.
Hungover on sugar,
the sweetness a film on my teeth.
To try another 
makes me nauseous
yet I must eat more;
Drowning in liquid gold 
waiting for something to stick.

Because to be unstuck is only to move forward, 
To crisper air and shorter days
and when there are no more ripe peaches 
and I have to close my window at night
and a shiver is the first thing to greet me in the morning
and when the honey crystalizes
I’ll long for sticky July.