by Karen Crawford
The heat is everywhere. You feel it at a traffic stop, a gas station, a parking lot. You see it in your neighbor’s eyes, hear it in your housekeeper’s voice, smell it on the grass the gardener mows. The heat festers but you know the freeze will come. After the protests. After the quieting. The freeze will trigger a meltdown. A meltdown that becomes a lake, becomes a river, becomes an ocean that can’t drown out a people who swim against a rising tide. A people buoyed by the salt of those who came before them. And before them. And before them.
Karen Crawford lives and writes in the City of Angels. Recent work has been included in Best Microfiction Anthology 2025, Ghost Parachute, Bending Genres, Flash Boulevard and elsewhere. She is a multi-Pushcart, Best of the Net nominee and longlisted in Wigleaf’s Top 50.
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