Heatwave
A fever oscillates across my skin
swigs stamina and strength from my bones,
yet offers no toast to acknowledge my hospitality.
I'm just "southern" enough
to graciously welcome unwanted guests,
find beauty in wilting leaves
bowing temporarily to a stronger force;
enjoy the ballet of grandmother's quilt
as it lifts a corner,
flutters gracefully as fever exhales;
imagine I'm a bartender
serving shots during happy hour,
carefully pour each living thing a drink -
temperance observed;
join the hens in a silent brooding,
thankful the border collie
rallies strength to scan for the devil;
look forward to the lick of night
when the visitor rests
and the yellow haze behind my eyelids
finally fades to black.
by Margaret Bednar
