I cannot wait for fall parties. The invitations have begun to roll in. I used to think I loved summer parties until they got this year so sweaty and sad, the whole world away at the shore, sunk in sweet and salt. Goodbye, summer: you were supposed to save us from spring but everyone just slumped into you, sad sacks pulling the shade down on an afternoon of a few too many rounds. Well, I won’t have another. I’ll have fall. The fall of parties for no reason, of shivering rooftops, scuffed boots, scarves with cigarette holes. I’ll warm your house. I’ll snort your mulling spices. I’ll stay too late, I’ll go on a beer run, I’ll do anything to stay in your dimly lit rooms scrubbed clean of all their pity.
Becca Klaver was born and raised in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. She received her BA in English, creative writing from the University of Southern California and her MFA in poetry from Columbia College. She is the author of LA Liminal (Kore Press, 2010) and the founding editor of the nonprofit feminist press Switchback Books. She is a PhD student in English literature at Rutgers University and lives in Brooklyn, New York.