by Annie Nazzaro

A summer night on the verge of seizure. The only story I know how to tell right now. The light shining strange and yellow on leaves that haven’t ever been this green. The same things that’ve always happened here. The wanting and the leaving, the grass bending in their wake. How a tree looks just before it topples, thrashing ahead of a crack. A paralyzing quiet, an unbearable heat. What I’ve been waiting for and what I would do anything to stop if there was anything that would stop it. The horizon line, obscured by foliage. Until the wind takes everything it’s going to take.

View the painting that inspired this poem.

Annie Nazzaro is a writer based in Chicago. When she is not writing, she can be found at home playing video games or out competing in pub trivia with friends. She is on Bluesky and Instagram and more info is at her Linktree.