THE AIR IS PINK IN FLORIDA

Took a picture to show you the palm trees

filtered fuchsia in the evening heat.

Drinking alone, I'm outside the reception.

Give me a minute,

I was supposed to marry someone too.

Lightning strikes and I watch smoking.

I think I’m starting to find a way out:

I’ll cry to my brother and he’ll listen,

the story becomes a hurt I can stand

the telling illuminates new angles

like the crystals

my mother gave me for peace.

I’ll forget the sound; his voice

crunching over me

when I would warm and expand.

But I won’t tell you about any of this.

I’ll go up to my knees in turquoise waves,

exfoliate my feet in the sand.

My future sister will crack jokes

and I’ll salsa with my aunt.

I’ll tell you about all of that

and the sun slipping into the gulf, staining air

and sea and me scarlet

when I get home.

Kate Miano is a writer based in New York. She has poetry published in Overheard Lit, Goat's Milk Magazine, and Fish Barrel Review, among others. She has work forthcoming in december magazine and Schuylkill Valley Journal. She is also a contributing writer at Thank You Very Much! She can be found on Instagram: @kate.c0m, Twitter: @_katemiano and by the water.