the month the sun didn't set.

As the sun slowly slipped across the sky—
waxing proudly at the crest of the heavens,
bathing everything within its reach
in a thick balm of amber and honey
warmer than the fervent intoxication
succeeding the strongest drink,
marking high noon—
I watched as it took its brief seat
at the head of the table.
I noticed that my shadow
had disappeared completely
and suddenly understood how Peter Pan
must have felt when he lost his.
I ran inside to collect a needle and
some thread, in case I had to stitch it back to my soles.
When I emerged, I found that my shadow had not yet returned.

I waited patiently—and still my shadow did not reappear.
As I anxiously searched for it under the rocking chairs
and the ashtrays, I noticed the heat of the day on my back.
I looked up and saw that the sun had not moved
from its position at midday.

Others noticed.
The national news was quick to pick up on the story.
The scientists and the experts had no explanations.
Believers knew it was a sign of the Apocalypse.
Alaskans merely laughed, all too accustomed to weeks of sunlight.
A few simply chalked the phenomenon up to
an unusually hot August.

And yet, no one was at all that alarmed
until the skies refused to rain.

As predicted, that night
the sun did not set.
Clouds gathered, and heat lightning
spindled across the sky,
teasing the fields below.
Children danced about, carrying umbrellas,
hoping the motion might elicit rain.
As they tired, unsuccessful, they retreated inside
to cool off, only to find
that their popsicles had melted
and the ice-cubes had dissolved in their trays.

The next day, the sun hadn't budged.
Flowers began to wilt and the vegetables dried up.
Water began to evaporate out of swimming pools,
leaving behind salty trails of chlorine and bleach.
Some flocked to the grocery stores
to stock up on bottled water
and to cool off in the frozen foods section,
standing, for hours at a time, in front of the freezers.

Still, the sun did not set.
Electric plants overheated.
and power was shut off,
blacking out the world.
Rivers and lakes began to dry up,
and their sandy beaches coagulated into sheets of glass.
Carpenters went out of business
for their craft was too dangerous to execute
and their work was too flammable to own.
Trees caught fire, their leaves burning
into ash and falling like snow.
Fields of sunflowers and solar panels were cut down
out of fear that they were attracting too much heat.

Still the sun did not set.
Some tried to radio the astronauts,
asking them if they had any instruments
to induce an eclipse.
Some flew magnets to the moon,
tying the attractors to weather balloons and carrier pigeons,
hoping to nudge the satellite—others flocked to the shores,
throwing their bodies against the waves,
attempting to change the tides.
Plumbers constructed chutes and pipes to the sky,
trying to funnel rain from the clouds.
Oil tankers used their drills to tap for clean drinking water.

Still, the sun did not set.
The seas began to boil.
One could light a match by merely holding it outside.
Sun rashes intensified to burns of the third degree.
Hair began to singe.

And just as people’s skin began to melt off their bones,
the sun began to sink.
The world froze.

Once again, the scientists and the experts had no explanations.
Believers believed they had been saved by a miracle.
Alaskans bitterly returned to their ice castles.
I checked the calendar and noticed that August had finally ended,
and knew I would not be vacationing in the South that winter.