Mean Season

Late summer, the months sliding just into Fall, bring heat and humidity so thick it feels like a wool blanket. Storms bristle with lightning and wind. And water, water everywhere. Standing in wide pools and silvering along marshy places. The mean season in Florida.

Poem: Florida


Nights the saw of cicadas fill
the space between dusk and twilight.
Porch lights dim under the weight of moths,
their wings silted, fluorescent. Mosquitos,
needle-mouthed dowsers, on the roam
and hunting. Earth and water flavor
the darkening air and every body
sags against white sheet. Turn and turn
again, eager for the coolest spot.
All the while, wind holds its breath.

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