Summer Night

A poem

© Sherryl Clark

Warm damp air sits heavy on us

as we sprawl lethargic

in our tossed-and-turned beds.

It’s not so late

but the hours have crawled

and the breeze is still.

Silence hovers, the night is

bloated with humidity

and the impossibility of movement,

yet there is room

for an occasional slap

and the crushing of small mosquito bones.

At last the barest breeze

stirs the sulky curtains,

allows uneasy slumber.