by Naomi Bess Leimsider
Two spikes a day; the heat slams through me.
Doubles down, bends around, catches sudden and quick. Then nothing breaks
except the chill of space.
This is how it starts, how it moves.
Somewhere on the spectrum, I am in rhythm with all the hours in the day.
After all, there is no heat like the heat of expanding
and no cold like the cold of exploding.
Only the big body of the universe can bring me back to center.
I am so silly, so small.
I have not defied time or age. Just left out in the sun
too long. The curve behind me now,
pulled back and back to deep time,
and then fast forward,
into the madness of the future.
Whatever I do, the hot world remains: it will make more of me,
all it wants is to make more of me.
Naomi Bess Leimsider has published poems and short stories in Orca, A Literary Journal, Hamilton Stone Review, Rogue Agent Journal, Coffin Bell Journal, Hole in the Head Review, Newtown Literary, Otis Nebula, Quarterly West, The Adirondack Review, Summerset Review, Blood Lotus Journal, Pindeldyboz, 13 Warriors, Slow Trains, Zone 3, Drunkenboat, and The Brooklyn Review.