This Is Not That Heat (Poem)

Outside it is hot.

But not like the heat I remember

From childhood when I lived in another place.

There the air would hang still and expectant,

As if waiting for cooling winds which never arrived.

When you tried to breathe,

Each breath would coat your mouth with sticky warmth,

As if trying to inhale a sweltering blanket.

You would hear repeated as a mantra of protection

It’s not the heat but the humidity!

We all knew it to be a lie but said it nonetheless,

As though from our lips to some deity’s ears

Would cause pity to result in an icy breeze.

And after the temperature reached a certain point,

We would not care which deity answered.

I think if any passing demon had promised the equivalent of airy AC,

Everyone would have agreed and offered their souls on the spot.

But this is not that place, and I am not sorry.

I can still go outside in the late afternoon

Without soaking myself in my own sweat

Or worry about heatstroke from checking the mail.

I’ll stay in the mountains.