More summer poems to read in the hammock (on your iPad!)

by Jen Karetnick

They rise upon you, flood
you in the neighborhood of sleep
where once-solid canyons of breasts,
hips, knees, parched from breath, west of age,
have slipped, begun to crack.
It’s not that there’s a lack of cool
breezes or even air
conditioning; matter of fact,
it’s like you booked a room
in an ice hotel, framed yourself
an igloo. Still you melt,
puddle, a tongue so svelte, velvet
before fusing to steel,
teaching you reversal,
how to tread betrayal, ride luck
before lightning strikes, bringing rains.

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Jen Karetnick

Check out the rest of our poetry, free, on Cleaver’s website.