I laid out in the backyard
sun, alone, and turning up
the radio, I drank a glass
of water and wiped sweat
beads off of my glasses.
I turned up the radio,
trying to mute the wail
of something through the wall
and tall blades of grass, the
hurling reverb of whatever
pouring into my yard.
I turned up the radio,
trying to mute the
screams
on the other side of my fence,
in the street, barefoot screams
like there was nothing left
but screams.
I looked for the sun,
because I felt it
on my face,
but the screams around me
got so thick I couldn’t
think
anymore,
and the screams
came out the radio,
and I couldn’t do anything
but listen
to screams,
everywhere.
…
Now I’m pulling
as many screams
into my back yard
as humanly possible,
and listening to them all
and giving them a home
until my ears burst, hoping
we can all feel the sun again,
because I swear it was just here,
when the summer wasn’t deafening.
I swear, I remember seeing the sun.