Issue 230, Fall 2019
Like an alarm I can’t shut off, the summer.
Like air raid sirens stuck on
the world is burning, the world is burning
& I can’t stop it. Can’t stop ash from the reddening
sky falling dry onto grass, onto clover
lit purple at their tips. Mouth level.
My cheek muscles the ground. I can’t hear
anything here. I can’t hear
them but I know, around me,
forests are not quiet as they burn.