Boiling Point

At 90 degrees Celsius, you set a tea bag in the ceramic mug she gave you months ago: the only part of that year that remains. The only part you can truly hold. At 95 degrees, bubbles roll like marbles along the bottom of the pot. You look down, see a message on the tea bag’s paper label. It reads: Always reach for something higher, lighter, better than yourself. At 100 degrees, the first bubble crests the water’s surface. The effect is simultaneously visible, invisible, escape, arrival. You wonder then if everything, before long, becomes air.

Adam Kullberg lives in Tucson, Arizona, where he attends the MFA program at the University of Arizona. 

Photo credit: Kris Kables


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