Cease, Cows


Mother's Day Issue 2018

Eighth Month Swelter | Caroljean Gavin

Backyard dogs bark at lightning bugs.

Closed windows do nothing.

My bed is my aching island,

Kicked off, wadded up blankets bluff the edge, still,

Heat rises, rises, rises off my skin,

And the ceiling fan blows it back down in.

Even the son inside is restless

Rolling and rippling,

Tossing and turning,

Swearing and sobbing.

Even he can feel the devil hanging in the humidity.

We are being patient.

We are waiting, waiting, waiting for

That cool hand to deliver us from summer.


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