Conflagration

 

Conflagration

It rained yesterday. Strange.

I thought it would clean the air

but it smells more like ash than it did

before.

No scorched earth, I begged. Let’s

do this right. For once, do something right.

And so far, it’s worked. But

last night you showed your hand,

just a little. And I realized this

fragile peace hinges on my willingness to pay.

I slept uneasy. I’m so close. It’s

nearly done. Hang on. But when I

look out the window, I can’t

tell if it’s sunrise or fire

coming over the ridge

to light the way

or destroy us.

We’re officially a disaster.

Our home. This marriage.

And the world looks on

like rubbernecking drivers

on a crowded freeway.

They talk of mopping up the mess.

Starting fresh. But the air still smells

like smoke. Like a dragon sleeping

in its cave, waiting.

The rain doesn’t wash it all away.

Just brings it to the door.

November, 2007

29Joe Collins, Jessica Fleming Crawford and 27 others

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