Feels Like 108 Degrees
Holy sweat dripping off every surface.
Holy air conditioning. Holy swollen feet.
Holy water bottle. Holy crowded light rail trains,
holy buses. Holy skyways connecting
every building downtown. Holy sun, holy heat.
Holy walking shadow to shadow, blessing the dark.
Holy home. Holy respite.
Holy forgetting all of these things,
just to remember tomorrow.
Like much of the center of the U.S., Minnesota is experiencing a heat wave. Today, it was 95 degrees, with a heat index of 108.
I was lucky enough to stay inside for most of the day, until I had to take the train from work to my periodontist for a check up. I found myself walking, sweating, and cursing everything I was experiencing. F*(& this heat, this humidity, this sweat. Then, somehow, the ghost of Allen Ginsberg visited me (not really) and replaced every curse word with the word “holy”. Holy shade, holy darkness, holy air conditioning. Suddenly, I was experiencing gratitude for my experience, rather than abject misery. As soon as I got home, I had to write it down.
So now I have a very large small stone, or a short litany poem. Either way, I am home now and grateful for my air conditioning, shower, and stash of root beer popsicles.
This micropoem is part of A River of Stones International Small Stone Writing Month, hosted by Fiona and Kaspa. The goal of the project is for participants to create one small stone (a recorded moment of mindful observation) each day in July.