Q

A moment still enough that infant roots push into my soles. once someone told me pausing was therapeutic but today i feel only life’s impatience. the air is damp with the death of mangos, which are in season now. it is so bright it hurts. all around me tall trees spell themselves in black light on glittering concrete. dizzying.

it is summer that reminds you of murder, more than any other time of the year. everything it births is harsh and insidious – and too loud, always too loud. crows dive into sparrows drenched in bowels of yellow mango flesh gilded by the sun in obscene red orange black. it is almost too much.