Wet August leaves cling to my arms like sleeves
My bare feet slip in the mud as I tremble along the shoreline
Pressure builds in my chest like a balloon ready to burst
And I do
My vocal chords quiver sharply and pierce a hole in my throat
The mountains echoes the guttural screams escaping my chest
Like air slowly being released from a balloon
I stand there for a moment
Or two
Fingers curled into my scalp and bunched damp hair
I thought I had still been screaming when my ears recognized the silence
My entire body felt like an earthquake
Tremor after tremor

The August green trees radiate a bitter static cicada song
Until it's all I hear
My ears stuffed with sound waves of cotton
Legs withering into the mud
Body collapsing onto the tile
I wasn't in the kitchen
The cicadas shrieked louder

I wasn't in the kitchen
I was at the lake
I am at the lake
Louder and
Louder and
Louder and
I am in the kitchen
Alone
On the floor
Tears using the bridge of my nose
As their own personal bridge
To reach the hard cold tile
Making their own personal lake
On my kitchen floor
Cicadas aren't wailing
The mountains don't echo the insects
My kitchen echoes my screams

Dear God let me have my lake
For once in my life I beg of you
I will never ask again
Let me have my lake