Curled up in the grass, for hours,
we begin convincing each other
that “green” will suffice.

Each flicking tip
explores its neighbor’s shape,
softly and blindly –

as close
as we are
so strikingly not.

A squeal
of wind

– I press my
palms to my
stinging eyes –

exposes the yellowed
underbellies of the stems.

Slices of yellow light
spill over your toes.

-Sumun Iyer, class of 2018