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(image source)

The outside heat

always creeps

inside me

like flies into an apartment.

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My bones are wrapped in felt blankets.

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We try to steal cold from tomatoes and mozzarella

And now it’s time for ice cream

….As it was a few hours ago.

A small delight.

More sweaty clothes are washed and hung to dry

in this dryer we’re currently inside.

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Each morning is an expedition

into

the air already

thick and heavy

Heaving back up the hill with emergency provisions

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We’ve installed a wading pool in the bathroom for my son.

At night I stand in the kitchen,

actually glad to wash dishes.

I let the cool water splash and soothe where it can.

In the building across from us

people sit on their balconies, silhouettes framed by their apartments’

warm orange light — might as well be flames.

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The thermometer reads

32 degrees (Celsius, bien sûr)

but the real proof of the heat:

even the true Parisians

are wearing short sleeves.

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