One Hundred and Four

White cotton fixes on my heated skin
Holding itself to my damp shape
Sun arcs the sere sky
Moving from hot to hotter and back to hot
Splitting into the over and under of summer
Later days indistinguishable
Morning from evening
Sky the color of unwatered lawns

Cool is only found at the bottom
...of the pool, the deep end
...of the glass of iced tea
...of the dream in fitful sleep
...of the sheets under the ice packs
...of the freezer section in the store
Where no one looks alarmed as I bend
My ear to the icy edemame
The bag at the bottom of the freezer
is telling me how to stay cool.