Callouses

We wait for it

we long for dirty feet, 

blackened with the freeness of summer

like babies waiting to exit the womb

except instead of being in a place of warmth

we wait in the cold, wanting to be free

it comes, and we change

we are wilder

more free

there is love in our eyes 

caused by the swaying summer breeze

and our soles are black

and we are alive

and then our warmth turns to cold

we battle with the chill

hating the loneliness

our feet are clean, 

but there are still callouses 

to remind us of what is gone

and it is cold

but

the cold becomes our friend

it wakes us up

it makes us feel alive again

we learn to love the sting

and soon enough

you don’t miss the summer breeze

so much anymore. 

The cold has cured me of the summer,

just like time has cured me of you. 

j.r.

Author's Note

this is my first poem, so if I'm not following a form right or I'm supposed to use periods or capitalization, let me know. I won't take anything you say personally, I just want to know how to improve