Summer in the 90’s as a kid in Detroit was nothing
like summer today. The heat didn’t threaten
to choke you out. Dare I say summer in the 90s
in Detroit-the literal getto, was safer than southern

suburbs of 2023. The air is so thick it rolls around
in my mouth like jawbreakers from the throat
of a dusty gumball machine. My thighs sizzle
against the bench at the dog park and I am ten years old

again peeling my skin off the plastic covering
on Grandma’s couch as I wait for Aunt Jean to arrive.
Summer in the 90’s meant sometimes I could ride
in her red starburst Pontiac Sunfire over

the highway to a whole other world 6 miles away
and experience central air that smelled like her. I could curl
up on the couch in her basement and watch VHS versions
of Blockbuster hits. Summer in the 90’s meant the word

schizophrenia did not exist inside my mother, or anywhere
at all. It meant the heat had not yet become heavy
enough to be picked like lint from my school uniform –
the one I’d trade-in for play clothes before running to

hop-scotch on sidewalks cracked from poor
installation instead of climate change. Summer in the 90’s was warm
water from the hose on the side of the house filling
your cheeks before handing it off to the next kid without

splashing sandaled feet. It was ribbed handlebars and bikes
flipped over to fix slipped chains while pebbles dug into
our knees. And laying in the grass beneath a sun
that had not yet entered its villain era.

Talicha J. is a Black and Queer Writer, Workshop Facilitator, and Poet. Her work focuses on issues such as self-esteem, body image, and mental health. She has been featured in literary magazines and toured the US to promote her debut poetry collection, *Falling in Love with Picking Myself Up.*