Boxed

My summer would fit
Crushed up small in a box,
Insignificant in its coffin,
If it had blisters and chlorine,
From swimming in my shoes
One day, after too much caffeine.
And it would be musky with
Sandalwood apples, and chocolate,
Stuttering open, the coffin of my mother
And only because we wished it,
Which is probably shocking.
I can hear my brother mutter
About unfairness, and hay bales,
And coming home covered in straw
Because it is much further
If you walk the village backwards.
And we listened to the sunrise
Streak the sky with orange, my father,
My sister and I, on a mountain.
We had eggs for breakfast,
And I couldn't hear me think
Over the sound of laughing
Swedish grandmothers, experiments,
Expectations of being thick.