Poetry

Heat Haze

In the heat of summer,

when our throats

are thirsty, eyes unfocused,

sweat clinging to every part,

we hear the hum, loud as an engine

by our ear. It is the fly,

humble, persistent and even

happy in a group.

We often think of flies as dirty

deeply unclean

and unnecessary things,

disregarding

their role in decomposition.

From decomposition

comes nourishment

for the ground, the spark of growth

and life.

Perhaps that is why the fly

makes such a to-do

about its buzz.

Poetry

Hardback

I ease into the spine,

careful not to rip or tear,

hearing that new page sound;

a spreading of toes

preparing to feel the ground

in case it tries to slip away

from me.

A deep inhale

before setting the fingers to work,

elegantly stretching from right

to left

as eyes blur left

to right.

Strength flows up my arms

congealing in my head.

The saliva on my tongue

tastes

of salt;

bittersweet meetings,

conversations left unsaid

where

there was so much to say.

I arch upwards,

clearing away the tide

that fills my lungs,

exhaling

the raw.

I step back to mountain;

the cover shuts.

My body tingles

with satisfaction.

My mind

is famished.