It is summer in this city that I call home. Not the one I was raised in but this mid-Atlantic, mid-sized, middling city. I fell for it two decades ago, its uneven brick sidewalks, the harbor, the sea gulls on the pier, and the ducks paddling the perimeter of the area where Hooters and the Science Center once vied for attention. Now, the stores are shuttered, the promenade an echo of its earlier days, and wind replaces the throngs that once strolled from the historical ship to the Barnes and Noble bookstore and cafe.

It’s summer and there are more days of extreme heat than last year. I sit in my TV room, the window air conditioner’s rumbling a comforting sound as I apply extra sunscreen before leaving home. I’ve been ill this summer and my mind keeps returning to the summers where I grew up. Almost every home has a front porch and several chairs to sit upon. Flowers rise and bloom extravagantly in many yards. The downtown, once derelict, now aglow with new buildings that contrast with the Art Deco designs that still look fresh so many years later. Rainstorms a frenzy of lightning cutting across the sky, hail the size of fresh laid eggs, and tornados, a whirling dervish of destruction that can be seen miles away across the flat landscape.

Here in this City 
	bounded by Bay water 
		I remember the other White 

Lost in yellow 
	Sweet corn and sunflowers 

Smell of happiness and home. 

—Long-Listed Finalist in MacQ’s Cheribun Challenge #2

Marceline White

is a Baltimore-based writer and activist. Marceline’s writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Atticus Review, The Ekphrastic Review, The Indianapolis Review, The Orchard Review, Prime Number, trampset, and others. Fellowships and conferences include Aspen Words, and Tupelo Truchas. Her work was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2022 and 2023. When not writing, Marceline can be found serving her two cats and telling her son to text her when he arrives at the party.

Read more at her website: https://marcelinewhitewrites.com