by Katrina Ilich

Created on: June 06, 2009

Heat.
My short breath slashes the air
The heat,
slaps frozen wood on my arms.
A wave of soft sand shudders up my legs.
I feel like I can touch it,
the heat.
I feel the groping of hands behind my mind
My eyes are leathery and worn
like crinkled, waxy paper
They roll
as a tongue would across gelatin.
I can feel their sliminess
before the bridge of my nose.
My palms are pressed into shaggy carpets.
I close my fingers into their wrinkles
And all I feel is clay,
squishy and tingling.
The tips of my fingers
are leaden,
and the skin cracks like dessert mud
when I bend them.
My heart drums almost as harshly
as the particles of the summer
heat.

Learn more about this author, Katrina Ilich.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.