Ice Cream Sundays

by Kyrin Sturdivant

In the summer, 

after brushing every tree we passed on the trail,

we drive home hot under our clothes 

and the heavy heat of the outside air. 

When we drive past that store full of memories 

my mouth waters. 

I move in my seat and think, of how 

I’d rather be cool and inside, 

extending my arm 

toward the flavors on that board, 

Smelling the melting chocolate spin out from the baking cookies, 

sitting in those chairs and talking about nothing for an hour. 

How I long for those days again,

when I didn’t have to ask for a favor. 

My love for them is like the love of ice cream. 

You only want it when times are hot and intense, 

but once you have it, 

it disappears, 

running back 

into its fragile shell.

© Kyrin Sturdivant 2022, All Rights Reserved.