Tag: Summer

somehow mosquitoes know how to bite without being seen, back of the arm, an ankle, they love me and i love them back, sort of. let me explain. mosquitoes mean summer, they mean i’m outside, maybe by a sea, a pool, a river, a lake, or somewhere at night, under the moon, or stars, and i’m not paying attention to their fluttering about, their quest for blood, because at the moment they bite me, i don’t care. but then there is that sweet itch, the phantom slap, as if they were still sucking. a few minutes later i forget the bite, and rejoin the happenings of july or august. the next day i might itch the bite, or near the bite, contemplate how far the swelling has spread over skin, this can be tormenting and enthralling. sometimes i rub it with hydrocortisone cream, sometimes i drown it in scalding water so it itches even more. it is my souvenir, my summer tattoo. a couple days go by and the redness diameter is less, the scratching urge disappears. another day or two and i search and search for where it once was, but like time, it is gone.