SURFACE OF THE SUN

I have been to Arizona—

listened to people geniusly relate the state to the surface of the sun

the ways we reconcile our suffering

little to no laughter

—red everything

brutal stardust

so unlivable, yet its population blooms each year

in line for therapy

—hello grief

I forgot to grab a number

when I did—129,784

yes, my mother used pills

no, in the livingroom

clear blue & stale air

not a cloud in the sky of her eyes

—10, I remember the bus ride home from school that day

it was late August

my new sneakers are covered in a thin layer of brown film

beams of thick dust and Midwest light poured through the window pane

the place was so unlivable

surface of the sun

William Bortz (he/him) is a husband, poet, and food editor living in Des Moines, IA. His work appears or is forthcoming in Okay Donkey, Oxidant Engine, Empty Mirror, honey & lime, Turnpike Magazine, Back Patio Press, and others. He shamelessly still listens to Meteora.