Aquariums That Cloud
Weather no longer weather, clouds rehearsed, heat rehearsed, the boardroom rehearsed.
To do lists grow longer, I tally the nights I drink, trying to wring out some fun but it all sours in the mouth, leaves me staring at the ceiling where the headlines shuffle like rats, papers multiply like roaches under a light, lawmakers chew their tongues, extremists polish their teeth, and we all thrash in the wave pool while the lifeguard studies his reflection in the whistle. I buy small things to keep myself from splitting apart, because art pulls me too close, the page presses its skin against mine, the screen hums, the tasks swell like bread rising in the heat, spreading from their overturned baskets across the floor.
The skies hang grey with no rain, the drought drags the lake down until the rocks look peeled, docks folded into the grass like crushed insects, houses perched with their undersides bare, waiting. How does anyone survive this, answer the messages, send the gifts, keep the connections alive like aquariums that cloud no matter how often you wipe the glass. Easier than before, harder too, or maybe I am only more selfish, bones splitting, a second body pressing from inside.
When I sit still the canyon opens, damp and metallic, a hallway without walls, a room that breathes. Light rubs itself raw, thought and sound coil, a friction without force, slow and animal, something I follow with my whole body.
A death slips off the list, returns as a photo, a message, a name dropped in a group chat. The reminder flickers on the screen, ordinary, almost sweet, and then.
Weather no longer weather, clouds rehearsed, heat rehearsed, the boardroom rehearsed, this transparent yet filmy thing that coats all of us but when the sun strikes our bodies at the right angle, iridescence becomes us and perhaps it is bright enough to burn the last gas off the top, the blue flame dwindling and the smell of cedar wafting into city streets that still feel the rumble of roots tumbling beneath the surface, imperceptible to us from the shallow slabs of solid we stick between our feet and the earth.
Thank you for reading. If this stayed with you, a single 🫧 Lava Drop helps keep the light on.