Too Hot to Handle
1 min readApr 26, 2019
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A poem
The whole sun fell in one bang,
stunning the land with scorch
and steam, too hot for the dogs
and seedlings. I touch my skin
to check for flames — bushfires
start with a single match –
a featherbrain flick. The best
storms to pacify follow the
grilling and build a sauna to
wilt in while your collarbone
sticks out like ivory and your feet
sear on parched embers until
wrung out in humid wafts — but
my poached limbs can stand
another dollop of molten sizzle
before the droop tips.
Copyright © 2019 Bridget Webber. All rights reserved
