This poem is taken from Stand 222, 17(2) May - June 2019.

Jean Eng Two Poems
Climate Thief

June behaves more like
November as vortices churn
the sky. Our city darkens, pelted
by ice beads. Street lamps turn on
mid-afternoon—then bars
of light strobe through clouds.
Vanished heat returns.

The temperature spikes so
often we sleep like preparations
for fall: deep, hunkering, and padded.
But awake, compulsions rise to
finish, gather and clean as if
everything left undone
now— will be too late.

We can peaches yet to bloom,
remove air conditioners
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