Every weather map these days looks roughly colored in
with only red and orange crayons. In Korea, farmers dig
up potatoes from a field and find them boiled to mush.
Dogs pant, tongues raspy with thirst and sadness. Every
mail box and railing is metallic with the smell of coins left
too long in the sun. Clay pots and veranda tiles crack,
asphalt softens into black puddles on the road. Cicadas
crank up their desperate chorus in the trees, as though
their volume might ignite a breeze. They don't surrender,
though they shake off their jackets.
Is there a lesson?
Is it about lightness, or
what the heart can bear?
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
