Off-white heat
slow-burning,
stilling
the familiar landscape.
Like an overexposed Polaroid.
As if frozen,
sun-glazed trees
barely rustle in
a non-existent breeze.
White-washed pavement
imperceptibly rumbles
as passing cars
hum by
winking,
exchanging secrets
with the pedestrian.
A trickle
of sweat
caresses her spine,
Frank Sinatra tinnying in
her earphones.
It reminds her
of an
old
wedding dress,
the color of the afternoon.
– 3:30 Pm, Hephzibah Grace