You need not worry. She places her hand in my palm and
Then she lets go.
Her hands were warm,
but not all warmth alleviates.
Her words seep through me like I’m
a piece of paper trying to resist a
Or a fire.
It’s August, and we can’t go outside
because the air is
This is supposed to come in October. But it’s August, and
They may shut our water off, she says.
I guess we’re in a
But aren’t we always?
Is it even meant to rain in the fall?
I can’t remember a time before the fires,
Life on earth is 3.5 billion
years old, and the sun
will envelop it in 7.5 years.
Why is its midlife crisis
coming so soon?
Thunk. I look out the window.
The patio chair has toppled over the edge of the deck.
Great. Gusting winds, but no rain.