Mid-Temperature 

By Meer Singh

I’ve dragged my chair
into the primary 
patch of sun. A 
blanket hangs over
my lap. Through the
screen door, my 
feline companion
asks to join me. 
When I oblige,
she just runs 
to the soft 
cave behind my
back. She hears

the dogs next door
whine and whine 
from their metal
long leads. Their
five foot human 
barks at them
to stop while 
children play catch
in the yard wearing
t-shirts and shorts. 

It is only a mid-
temperature day,
but who among us
can wait

for the lilacs to 
bloom / for the 
leaves to regrow 
when sweet round
spring stirs us
all into early 
arrival?

I slide open
the car sized door
of our garage and
step into the 
damp-dry smell
of storage. My brother’s 
bright mint mountain 
bike is collapsed 
on the unmoving

dust of the 
concrete floor.
Both tires are
limp,
drained of air. 
I put my own 
bike tire between
my thumb and
pointer finger. It
looks full but it
does not push
back against my
touch. Winter 
did its work.

A white breasted
nuthatch (or was it 
a tufted titmouse?
My memory already
fails me!) tries
to fly through 
the window
painted shut. I 
want so badly
to show them 
the wide open 
door but the bird
does not know
my tongue and
for them the panes
of glass
hardly seem
solid. 

Meer Singh is from Oneonta, New York and is currently in his first year at Hartwick College. He is doing an ISP (individual student program) major called Community, Origins, and Creation. It studies the role creativity has in building strong, interdependent communities.