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To call my past selves, I untangle summer from around the old phone. Down the cord their voices come coiling in As they pour tea for the evening and settle into plush chairs. They talk and talk and we laugh until I ask, What if? In the receiver, cicadas buzz like static: we know, we know, we know. I wonder what it is they know. What I know is that every year There are more numbers I could forget and I would writer them down only to hear if means if someday I dial but am afraid of what many times I have checked my notes a stranger's voice, even after the night only as long to stay on the line: I beg my selves to be un-fooled, un-not yet ready as it is wise, and I am go on knowing. go on, and the cicadas dreamed. The hours What do I know? My body yawns, placing its faith in the hands of the day.

Image credit: Marius Dzialek

Katherine Huang is a graduate student in genomics and computational biology at UPenn. Her work has appeared in print/online at various places – most recently Pangyrus, phoebe, Sweet Tree Review, and The Shore. When not writing or sciencing, she enjoys dancing and taking naps. You can find her on Twitter @Katabolical and on Instagram @kata_bolical.

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