Contributor: Dante Giugliano

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The smell of cold washed over our bodies
as my cousin and I sat on the roof in the rain.

The trees were mountains
but we loomed above them,
giants of an endless world
saying nothing and everything
in the language of family.

Together,
we lifted our faces to the sky,
for we were children and could still pretend
that the rain would bathe us clean
of the months before--

the funeral,
the So Sorrys,
the useless hugs which stopped
when they were needed most.

Side by side, we breathed the summer air
and inched towards morning.


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Dante Giugliano is a high school senior. He lives outside of Boston.