Sizzling Forecast

In lava topped mesas

baked ocher in summer's heat
I see your eyes

The heat here is comforting, reassuring
I embody my mother
Stride from room to room
Opening windows following afternoon showers
The house becomes cool

It is with mundane tasks
  the small monotony of folding clothes
That I notice the passage of time
  faded lettering on college t-shirts reminds me,
I will never see him again

In the blazing, glaring, sizzling mid-July sun
I search for adjectives
Peach juice running down my face
In this heat, my fingers are instantly sticky