Georgia Gnats

In the middle of summer,
gnats danced across my eyelids,
like a marching band under Friday night lights,
disrupted only by a gust of breath,
trumpeted out of a slit in perfectly pursed lips,
scattering the cloud of almost invisible but obnoxiously present insects.

They’d quickly return,
flying about my head as silent as the g in front of the n-a-t,
seeming so desperate for a swim to interrupt the South Georgia heat,
they’d rest along the edges of my mouth and eyes,
like salt pressed to damp edges of a margarita glass.

I grew so accustomed to them,
noticing their retreat and the sun would set in my soul,
as winter was already calling,
hanging in the air like my mother’s voice from the back door,
“It’s time. It’s time.”
My cue to cut short the mischief Laura and I had discovered,
and unearthed like a delicate fossil,
it was time to turn for home.

Carra Greer, 2018