on fire again: poems

by Sarah Joseph-Alexandre

Anna Elgebrant Rekstad, Untitlted, digital photograph, 2024. Image courtesy of Unsplash.

---

on fire again: poems

Sarah Joseph-Alexandre
JULY 2025 | Issue 47

heat death

i love the sound of vanishing—
the last sip you draw from the cup,
the sweet whistle of someone walking out,
the scientists on the news babbling away.
the heat death of the universe is coming,
but maybe that is a soft thing to seek,
the last drop of your laugh savored
against my chest, the final joke stuck in my throat,
the swishing of the linen sheets as you move, fast,
to tilt the universe straight into my mouth,
the sky buzzing and humming just like you,
universe,
expanding forever towards me

they set the building on fire again

the heat rises up the stairs, but then it stops.
if there ever were a fire, i’d find out last.
the flames would lick the doors so soft,
i’d imagine the sound to be kissing,
and i would stay in bed, mind drifting,
gently, towards the past. don’t call once
the weather gets past eighty, i can’t pick up,
i am sleeping summer away all while
other people are kissing.

heat stroke

i am allowed to think of your body by the pool,
because the world is on fire
and I think the worst is coming.

there has never been a better time
for lascivious amounts of chlorine
and an ill-advised rendez-vous;

there has never been a better view of you,
glistening gloriously while NPR warns
of the hottest year on record—

god, yes.

it is.

come closer, honey,
my hottest year on record,

your radiant heat
scorching up my skin.

---

Sarah Joseph-Alexandre is an Antillean-French poet living in Brooklyn.