my feet are not cold on the floor though I left all the windows open
all night
no clouds in sight
no humidity, only heat is imminent
first morning after a pink moon
it would be a good day to drink more water, I think, as I water a red dahlia
one puff of breeze enters the kitchen and I smell the heat
the heat of sun on the leaves, the pine needles,
paint on the wood of the balcony
Heat on a black birds back
rising up from the sand, damp beneath
heat from the roof tiles wafting away
like the garlic she uses to make food with her hands
and all is quiet again
until the heat knocks, a loud fist on the steel door
expansion says science but my body startles anyway
and it’s time for the sun to magnify its rays in my eyes
though I’ve closed the blinds
and all I can think is what sweat tastes like
on the first day of heat after a pink moon
and the red dahlia laughs at me.
