Pressing Questions, Pressing Heat
The late-spring heat presses itself upon us
our sweat drips, nearly sizzles when it explodes
like a supernova across midnight black pavement
We walk slow
our movement a small resistance
a chance to let the atmosphere know that we are worthy
of nothing more than this parched existence
in a time of constant change, “new normals” always
moving with record-shattering speed
I take pause and wonder when the earth spirals from its own axis
where will she spit us?
how will it feel when we soar like shooting stars across the remnants of yesterday’s sky?
what will survive, if anything?
4 thoughts on "Pressing Questions, Pressing Heat"
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Probably TMI, but I hate being hot, perhaps more than any other feeling, and this made me physically tired and almost angry in the reading of the description, ha! So well done, and contains valid, terrifying questions.
Not TMI at all. I know lots of folks who feel the same way. I am glad your contepmpt for thr heat resonated as you read this poem. 😀
Ditto, Austen.
I ADORE the beach but the last time I was at one (in August) it was with little patience for long visits. I’ve been having to force myself to endure early morning heat to write poetry for PoMo (because it’s the only place I can escape my mom’s conversation and CNN briefly 😂. Nothing against CNN, but the political climate is very similar tolerance, which was part of what I felt/read into the poem, too, btw, whether this was entirely personal or a statement beyond as well).
Regardless, felt as you said too.
And beyond.
Many thanks, Joseph. Yes, I, too am struggling to find the right time to write. I can only imagine the difficulty with such sounds and reports on loop in the background. Wishing you all the best of luck with your writing and with surviving the summer swelter.