Poetry by Cynthia Pitman
A siren wails in the distance –
a faraway tragedy that I barely
note, then dismiss. The morning
sun sizzles, the humid air bleeds
beads of sweat, and the impatiens in the
window boxes curl and wilt.
A slight wind begins to blow
but brings no relief.
It only stirs the edges
of the sweat-sodden air that sinks
to the ground under the weight of
water. The dizzying buzz of bugs
in the background heightens
the feeling of sweltering heat.
A new day breaks,
born to burn.
About the Poet
Cynthia Pitman is a retired high school English teacher. She has had poetry published in Vita Brevis, Ekphrastic Review, Postcard Poems and Prose, Right Hand Pointing, Literary Yard,Amethyst Review, Adelaide Literary Magazine, Three Line Poetry, Leaves of Ink, Third Wednesday, Scarlet Leaf, Ariel Chart, and Mused. Her first poetry collection, The White Room, is forthcoming from Kelsay Books.
For the first time in nearly five years, Vita Brevis is closed for submission. Read the full story here.