sweating already on the frisbee field
at 9am ted says in the endzone
that mitribah, kuwait and basra, iraq
both reached 129 degrees fahrenheit yesterday
which, later, the internet tells me is
highest temperature ever recorded on earth

getting moist ted says
sweat glistening on all our skins and soaking
our clothes
and it’s about to get moister i call back
as we are about to make our way to the pond
don’t know mica says if that’s possible
turns out it’s pretty shallow over here
i call out from where i just jumped off the dock

and appeared to have plummeted into watery depths
only to be standing on the bottom
with the water up to my hips
the still-warm glasses of tomato juice
that stan pours mo and i
in gigi’s blue kitchen
before the three of us toast
(and dottie toasts too
with an invisible glass)
and sip the salted goodness slow

thwarted multiple times
on our ice cream hunt we finally choose a
6-cone pack from the freezer section
of jay’s
the deep fuschia
of the experimental kraut
(cabbage, beets, onions, carrots, apple)
as i transfer it from
crock to jars
joseph and i
from behind our sewing machines
exchanging amused eyes
as emory sings
i’m a cowboy
on the steelhorse i ride
and i’m wanted
dead or alive
into the box fan
that chops his voice up into little pieces
and sends it back out at him
a name for what the sun/sky is doing as i
harvest mottled tomatoes and
nearly perfect cherry tomatoes
in south garden
while dottie wheels around on that mower
breaking through perhaps
or maybe goldening or
and a name/word for what this light does

as it lands in the treetops

in the very last light of the day
after wrestling (only not really wrestling)
tomato limbs into their trellising
i walk the zinnia spiral
(flowers fireworking)

which is where i find
my breath again
i’m not writing about bullets
and black bodies
not because i don’t want to
but because
i don’t know how


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