A Poem by Matthew Stewart

Calor

This isn’t heat. This is Calor,
silting and clogging up the air.

It lies heavy in the bedroom,
our napes and pillows never dry.

Separate, clammy sacks of flesh,
we dodge each other’s skin all night,

wake fur-tongued as if hungover.
The tap refuses to run cold.

Dogs are already cowering
in the shade by the time we leave

for work in air-conditioned cars
to spend the day at our office

ducking any slaps of sunlight
that make their way through gaps in blinds.

At dusk, we walk beyond the town
where henna-streaked soil stretches out,

criss-crossed by tractor-rutted tracks
and strafed by rows of wire-trained vines.

A breeze ruffles the leaves. Grapes sway.
Our hesitant fingers meet.

Matthew Stewart works in the Spanish wine trade and lives between Extremadura and West Sussex. His second full collection is forthcoming from HappenStance Press in November 2023.