Saturday, September 03, 2011


That east wind is brutal. Hot, dusty
reeking of smoke. Dead leaves
race along the westbound streets.
The tail end of summer is curled up
and burning in the hills. Sheets of smoke flap
across the sky. Pigeons rise
in short troubled arcs. Auguries are poor.
Pray for the firefighters. Pray for rain.
My skin is freckled with ash.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside

1 comment:

Lydia said...

This is a superb poem. It gave me tingles down my scalp and arms because it is so current. There are many fires burning, and many brave firefighters risking their lives on our behalf. Yes, bless them. And bless the animals that try to escape. Thank you for your post.

I am linking the excellent post of a blogging friend...a photocommentary on a fire that fits your poem. It is HERE.