I stepped off the bus, my body drenched in sweat. I couldn’t wait to remove my uniform.

The bath would certainly wait.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

I lit a fire in the garden brazier and threw in all my notebooks. If books are shut they burn slowly but if you fan them out they may catch; soon the blaze was roaring sparks up into the arms of Orion, poised with his great stellar fire-blanket. Passport, driving licence, certificates: orange heat, a feeling of rage and an aftertaste of rubber and almonds. Then I jumped, arms turning into wings, I took the fire into myself. Then I was the stars, then I knew, I was the burning. Singed feathers, and now I could be the morning mist.

From Guest Contributor Geoff Sawers

The heat has taken its toll on my men and the tents smell of sweat and rotting flesh. The battle raged taking many of my soldiers, still left in the trenches, their corpses exposed.

A loud explosion startles me. I inadvertently drop the letter and run for cover.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The slave driver’s eagles squawk and shift violently in the wind to dodge the endless barrage of waves crashing against the rocky cliff’s edge. By our scent, they know we are close, but they can’t see us.

I struggle to speak and strain through the invisibility incantation I have surrounding us and our boat, “Row boy! It was no illusion. It’s our only salvation.”

From Guest Contributor John Martinez

Sounds of breaking ice awaken her mind as she settles back down upon the thawing earth, with its cracks and pops as faults move forward at increasing speeds revealing hibernating secrets.

The heat she now feels comes from within.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Nadia rushes through the streets. Gunfire and bombs go off in the near distance and people are scrambling, and screaming, knocking into her while sweat drips down the nape of her neck. Her breath is shallow from the heat and clouds of black smoke fill the air. She uses her sleeve to cover her face from breathing in the toxic fumes, but she coughs heavily. She prays her husband is safe, but she hasn’t heard a word since he left to fight for their country.

A bomb explodes creating darkness and the bridge collapses beneath her.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The mud on my face sticks to me from the heat of the sun, and I’m cramped in a hole waiting.

And so, I sit and wait.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

This is a country you only hear about when there is a failed coup or a 7.2 magnitude earthquake or all the whales have syphilis. Most days I feel as if hundreds of tiny worms with razor teeth are whittling my bones. People who have seen me grab onto a wall to keep from falling down in pain sometimes suggest I try heat or special creams. I thank them just to be polite. Meanwhile, a figure in a long black coat lurking nearby sucks on a cigarette, then expels a mouthful of smoke like the monster in a fairy tale.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie’s chapbook Famous Long Ago is forthcoming from Laughing Ronin Press.

Kneeling on the hard ground making textiles is an arduous task when the sun is beaming, but the heat is worse indoors. The brick wall of my home blocks the air flow and sweat trickles down my forehead.

My heart is full of love.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Through the stained-glass window, the heat of the sun beams on my face while mellifluous birds chirp in unison. I yearn to be outside on this spring day, listening to the sounds of nature, and children’s chortles, but my body lays limp.

After my arduous episode, I rest soundly.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher