heat wave
this is how heat felt when i was a child, lighter. less like being drenched in the saliva of a man who wants you too much & more like the sunflower bloom was cradling your skin in her bending petals—gentle, lush. i taste the remnants of fireflies on my fingertips but i don’t bother to wash up because this is what god had in mind when he made us in his image. the wrath would come later. for now, touch the blades, don’t run. unless it’s back to nature like the summer i fled for the adirondacks just to avoid the souring in the back of my throat & the harsh judgment from the walmart greeter. i just want to live like that summer never ended but of course it did & of course he died because nothing gold can stay & nothing ruby burns forever. everything tastes like peppermint cigarettes & how much i longed to kiss the welsh boy but never did. i didn’t kiss anyone that summer, just half a handy in a tent behind a motel & it was okay. it was all okay because i climbed the rocks & i jumped (i jumped) & i sank (i sank) & i still floated back to the surface with all my limbs intact & no one thought i could do it but falling isn’t as scary as it looks. so i let myself fall over these stalagmites like i’m falling on my sword. like it’s seppuku. like there’s honor in it. like i still want to live (i still want to live). just not like this. not like my blood is running from my skin, like my skin is stalking my bones, like my bones are chewing my muscles as if they’re bubble gum (like i’m bubble gum). gun to my head, i’d have to say, “my body thinks there’s a gun here anyway.” so i say “do it. shoot. pull the trigger. i’ll be fine on the other side.” but the other side isn’t death, just another paved parking lot & strip mall & everything in america is always the same, always empty & rotten like i pretend i am but i am full, see how my stomach peeks over my jeans, i stuffed myself til i burst. stuffed myself full of gnocchi & eighth notes & dime bags & tic tacs & i avoided the philosophy in favor of material goods—an earth sign is all she can ever be with watery tears & airy speeches & fiery tantrums all shoved into accordion files & in the slots between my teeth. alcohol doesn’t color the world the way it once did, instead it leaves you like carrion, roadkill. spilling guts in the same parking lot you passed by on your way to work that morning where you shoveled shit into your boss’s inbox just to give the illusion your job has meaning. & it’s never a career, not really. it’s more like a hammock: a temporary place to shelter. & helter skelter never made sense to me, all the skeletons on their birthdays & all the loose teeth in the fairy’s pockets jangling about like loose change. can she use it as currency? is there capitalism in the water fall? i’m drenched & happy & lost but it’s okay. it’s all okay. i’m not making excuses, i’m just trying to ground myself the way the light worker taught me to. there’s sand between my toes but i haven’t been to the beach in two years when he ignored me because i forgot the speaker & made me smaller than any individual grain could ever be & i’m trying to learn discernment & to not bite my nails but i still think he should have been kinder even if i was naive. i don’t think the optimists deserve to be spit roasted or strung up by their shoe laces. we deserve to have faith in each other. we owe it. i’m boiling alive in the outside like a lobster diving in the pot. in childhood, the air never was this hot.
