The Stink of Heat
Courtesy of Kevin Dooley via Creative Commons
By Lucy Richardson
What I remember is the heat,
The sun sliding down to burn my skin,
The vapor slithering slowly from the bogs,
The way It’d make you rage against the world
The way the longer you stayed, the more rage turned to passivity
What I remember is the hate,
The businessmen who’d spit on the ground
The cops who’d just wanted a stick to swing around
The men who grew resentful of every chick that denied
The way I’d see It all from the burning sidewalk with a cardboard shield
What I remember is the rain,
The way It’d rain for weeks on end,
The way It’d fall warm on your skin,
The way It’d all smell just after it passed
The way It’d melt your heart and make you love again
What I remember is the love,
The stinking of love in all that heat
The way love made itself known in the world
The way love snuck itself into the strangest of places
The horrible way you couldn’t escape it or defeat that love.
What I remember is the south,
That horrible beautiful Father of mine.
Lucy Richardson is a musician and writer living in the Central Florida area. She is continually inspired by the resilience of her community and the diversity of ecosystems both close to home and worldwide. Lucy is developing her craft as a poet and storyteller through multiple mediums and regularly engages in advocacy to better her community.