"Grit"

Streets teem with water, and melting hail, the leftovers from a squall. I let my arm dangle out the window onto hot metal of assembly line steel. The sharpness of rain laden air slips over my burning skin, street water splashing upward as cars pass too closely. I wear the grit of summer construction between my fingers, relishing the feeling of filth wedged in creases, while watching perfect white beanstalks fracture the sky with light. Aleathia Drehmer 2007