Disclaimer: Literally nothing about this poem has anything to do with me or anyone I know, so I honestly don’t know where it came from. But I like it!

The heat of

the brick oven in our local pizza place
the hand warmers we stuffed in our mittens and socks and hats and jackets in the winter of ’08
the beach bonfire where our lungs filled and sputtered with smoke and empty beer cans made the night sky blurry
rubbing two hands together on those precipice nights when summer became fall and the frost froze outlines of dead leaves and wove its way into our blood
our exchanged looks in the corners of confined spaces
the habaneros in our tomato soup
the watery salt-trails along your cheek mapped like the Oregon Trail
the burning flushing stinging heat of the words you left on that crisp, flattened note
I meant to throw in the fire
but I hung it up on the clothesline in winter
and let the cold do the work instead.


One thought on “Heat

  1. I really like the line “rubbing two hands together… and “the burning slushing stinging heat
    in fact the last 4 lines are great. I wouldn’t think you could think about a clothesline since we never had an outdoor one, but it makes for great imagery!

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