The Linnet's Wings Blackbird Dock - Page 107

Last Summer  Akeith Walters  Deep in the bones under undistinguished skin that blends summer cousins together with an early June burn, I knew it was the last summer, though with all my ten years of wisdom I didn’t know why the skinned chicken breasts on the kitchen counter, waiting to be baked instead of fried, was a better dinner for my uncle's grimed-knuckled health when he always had four eggs and browned spam for breakfast, the most important meal of the day my aunt would say to me and my cousins, even though we knew deep in the bones the most important thing was the tire-swing over the swimming hole hidden in the thin woods behind the barn where we would gather in the thick-shaded heat of a sweaty day to smoke cigarettes without any underaged regrets for my uncle who believed faithfully deep in his bones that it was my aunt who slipped through the back bedroom door to pick the pack of unfiltered Camels from the bib of his overalls while he napped the afternoon of his last summer away. 107