Warming

Photo by Marek Piwnicki on Unsplash

It is supposed to be hot in the summer in the Ohio River Valley. It is not supposed to be this hot. It will be this hot forever now.

I woke up in the middle of the night

in my summer-heated house

in the days before air conditioning,

one box fan humming underneath the cricket sounds.

Even a thin cotton sheet felt heavy,

but I couldn't throw it off.

Something scratched at my window screen

and I knew, as only a child can know,

that it was coming for me,

if only I would uncover my body.

If only I would surrender to the heat.

We did this, you know.

We have turned the whole world into my childhood summer nightmare.

The flat-handed heat that pushes you down,

holds you in place by the shoulders

while you watch the dying grass through half-lidded eyes

reaching your fingers for just

a drop of condensation on the side of the cooler.

Hoping that when the burning finally breaks through your mechanical defenses,

you are fast asleep

or comatose

from the endless pressure of the heated air.