by Jared Beloff
after Ilya Kaminsky and Jorie Graham
before it could rot.
A field sits fallow as a heat map
angry pixels, dust rising
the color of ash.
A man with a loud tie mimes astonishment on TV:
A deadly heat wave
shattering all records,
as if weather were an adequate measure of pain.
We live happily here,
laying in bed, a fan
protests the heat of our bodies; we worry,
but not enough.
I am dreaming
of ice, an avocado, a bead sliding
down a cocktail,
there’s an ache
ignored behind my eyes, water rising like a pulse,
pressure then release.
We sit up late and
speak of eucalyptus, the shape of convection,
a kangaroo bursts
through the underbrush.
I pass you a drink and we smile, the world on fire around us.
Jared Beloff is a teacher and poet who lives in Queens, NY with his wife and two daughters. You can find his work in Contrary Magazine, Rise Up Review, Barren Magazine, The Shore and elsewhere. You can find him online at www.jaredbeloff.com. Follow him on twitter @read_instead.