August Poetry

Delta Heat

The river of heat pours on the soul.

A humid tapestry of saturation brings out beads of sweat.

Summer heat is its own ghoul.

Take a shower to clean,

Only to be drenched in perspiration sheen.

Clothes stick,

Skin slick.

As sure as the river is wet,

So is humidity’s silhouette.

The Mud of History

History is muddy,

Dirt and water washed together.

Sometimes it makes clay,

Sometimes it’s sinking sand.

History is muddy,

Water and dirt compacted together.

Sometimes it’s easy to see the dirt,

Sometimes it’s easy to see through the water.

History is mud,

A mixture of the best of us,

Soiled with the worst of us,

Coming together to make a malleable substance.

It can change in the present,

Or it can become a brittle artifact in the future.