July meant camping in Susan’s backyard and, one Friday, she brought out a needle and pen. Like always, Helen went first. Held Carly’s hand against the pinch. Matching hearts. Later, when she was alone, she touched the smudged ink. Felt Carly’s grip, Susan’s laugh, summer: bottled and rolled under skin.

Salena Casha’s work has appeared in over 100 publications in the last decade. Her most recent work can be found on HAD, Ghost Parachute, and Wrong Turn Lit. She survives New England winters on good beer and black coffee. Subscribe to her substack at salenacasha.substack.com.