graphic by kayleigh woltal
it’s ninety degrees at nine in the morning / and california is burning / it isn’t, really / but it has before / and it will again / it’s ninety degrees at nine in the morning / and sweat pools at the nape of my neck as i walk to school / by the time i make my way back home / it’ll crawl up to a hundred and ten / it’s ninety degrees at nine in the morning / and the pavement shimmers to lorde’s “solar power” / melting through my headphones / the merciless heat colored by acoustic guitars and folk tunes / it’s ninety degrees at nine in the morning / and as lorde tells me to do my best to trust all the rays of light / i pass a tree with drooping oval leaves
and when i ate peaches by the spoonful / syrup spotting the sidewalk / and when i froze lemonade into popsicles / sticky with sweat and juice / and when my sandals slipped off my too-small feet / and i ran barefoot through sprinkler showers / the tree watched / standing still / soaking in the sunlight / it’s only now / when the sun is out for blood / and my life is soon to be uprooted / that i miss those summers’ embraces / and it was only last night / when the sun sunk below the horizon / but the heat still hung heavy on my shoulders / that my mother told me it was an olive tree
it saw my syrup-spotted sidewalks / and my lemonade popsicles / and my soaked sandals / and now it’s here to see the spoils of those sun-kissed summers / how every letter i write is tinged yellow at the edges / and the fruit of my youth has rotted / and it wasn’t until now / when i’ve reached the limit of nights i can be tucked into bed / that i see its dusty leaves and twisted trunk and deep purple fruits for their specificities / so i walk past that tree / for what isn’t the last time yet / but soon will be / and lorde tells me to trust the rays of light / and i tell her i’ll try / and all my last times line up ahead of me / and she sings of dancing on the fallen fruit / and i tell her i have, but i want to pick it back up again / and my hot blood’s been burning for so many summers now / and she’s right, it’s time to cool it down / no matter the sun’s ferocity / and i promise i’m not looking for a savior / just a beacon of the future / and it’s ninety degrees at nine in the morning / and california is burning / it always is
lorde says goodbye to all the bottles and models / but i can’t do that / so i look for the clouds in the sky that hold no rain / and hope the sun will show me the way