Timothy Liu
Underneath the cotton blanket She sweats in sultry air dreaming, How sweet Napa Valley grapes would taste This time of year when heavy June clouds Seal the edges of sky like a thick crust Of baked apple pie steaming on the sill. Flies collide against the frayed screen Bathing in the flow of cool air streaming Through the vent of her napping kitchen Where she reads a Steinbeck novel Absorbed in artificial breeze Half aware upon a pair of wings. The soft swan flapping begins to buzz Like a miniature hummingbird Probing into her honey hair And dodging her clumsy hand Which lazily sways like an empty swing Peeling and baking in the heat.
