Somewhere buried deep in my being is a June memory.

It lingers in the air trying to find a direction. It improvises. It catches the rhythm of its own heart.

I walked so freely around New York City. Flowing dresses or khaki shorts. It didn’t make a difference. I was all cheesecake and Chocolate Thai.

I wish someone had told me it would be fall soon. I would have grabbed the wind of every float.

I wish I had known we were in for such a harsh winter. I would have climbed a higher platform shoe.

June was so sneaky back then. She started off sweet and carefree just before she handed me over to her twin.

Twisted and confused. She couldn’t decide whether to love me or trap me forever. She knew she could not keep my kitten heels stuck in the fresh paved road.

I wish I had known there would be so much snow. I would have wrapped myself in the warm scent of Bronx girls sharing chewing gum.

She knew she had to let me go.

If only she could have dropped me off in March or even May. But no she stopped the ride abruptly at July and in mere moments the fireworks were over.

There was nothing left but sticky pushy Caesars and weak evenings that could no longer hold the sun up for me. I gave up.

I found my way to an old doorway and waited in the vestibule hoping once more for a taste of June.