the lightness By Charlotte Covey it was rocks for so long. heavy boulders on my back, face in the dirt, thick air almost smoke. it was shards, cuts, flower pots left broken on the ground. it was the way you crave the sun and then blink when you get it. the way it blazes in summer and chills bones in winter. it was late nights and no mornings, wasps instead of honey bees. it was when water spilled on me, over my head, lost sight of anything but blue. i found a way out. i found a way to paint pictures of my memories, so they can wave hello but never haunt. so i can swim in yellows instead of blues. i found a way to reach the end without an ending— i am going to be light as air. Charlotte Covey is a senior at Salisbury University in Maryland, where she is double majoring in Psychology and English with a Concentration in Creative Writing. She has poems published or forthcoming in Salamander, Slipstream, The MacGuffin, Night Train, and The Mochila Review, among others. She is co-editor-in-chief of Milk Journal.