The heat hangs so thick in the air,
I reach my hand
out and imagine slicing through
it. grabbing and squeezing,
choking the summer to
feel it run through my fingers,
thick and angry.
It catches in my throat and clings to my skin. It makes
the garden grow with
ferocity and drives
the animals to find
refuge, lethargic in the shade
and maybe it makes me the same-
maybe it makes me fierce and fast-growing
or maybe it makes me feel like folding.
I don't really know.
Maybe I'll do both, stepping foot in the
soil as the sun rises and collapsing on the
couch in the afternoon, clutching ice and wondering
how I call this my favorite time of year
and really mean it.