It is hot outside.
It is Iowa hot.
The kind of hot that grows corn.
Our arms fly above us
And the droplets of water rainbow
Above the plastic pool.
Grasshoppers spit their chew.
Gardner snakes hide in the shade.
My hair is plastered to my forehead.
Inside, in the cool basement,
I lay on the tendrils of purple and green shag
My stomach to the floor
And feel my heart beating in my stomach.
And for the first time
I am scared of my body.
I wrote this poem when I was thinking about the first time I noticed that I had heart palpitations because of an autoimmune disease. I didn’t know I had this disease then and I wouldn’t know for quite a few more years. But, it seems since this first moment I experienced my body doing something strange I have had a struggle with accepting these strange quirks about my body. I have now realized that everyone struggles with this; it’s called mortality. I am trying to get better at accepting this.
Myth Makers Unite 
Your poem is so descriptive. I can almost feel the heat and your heart beating.
LikeLike
I have heart palpitations also. I have hypothyroidism which is causing this. I guess it is kind of a weird symptom since it usually accompanies its partner hyperthyroidism. It is such a weird feeling though. I agree!
LikeLike
Yes, that’s it-hypothyroidism. I have managed well for quite awhile, but getting close to menopause has made my symptoms worse. Hope you are doing well with it!
LikeLike
You have a lot of strong lines in your poem. I like the short direct lines that begin the poem. The last line of your poem is sort of startling (in a powerful way). I hope things get easier.
LikeLike
I grew up in Iowa but have lived away for 12 years now. (It will always be home)
These lines stuck with me
“It is hot outside.
It is Iowa hot.
The kind of hot that grows corn.”
If this was my piece I would add one line that I think all Iowan’s can relate to
“It’s fair weather” (Always reminds me of August HOT muggy summer days)
LikeLike