Tonight's Poet Corner: Sonnet Solstice #128
The Grass Cooked
by Belinda Roddie
The grass cooked underneath her flaming boots,
the harsh ribbons of smoke enveloping
the tails of her coat as she singed the roots
of trees and left oak leaves hot and crackling.
She was alight, in holy blaze, and did
not feel a single twinge of pain throughout
her body as she trekked, while ashes slid
across her shoulders, embracing the drought
that had sucked the earth dry. The harbinger
of disaster would scorch the forest green,
and while the fire would rage, this old bringer
of catastrophe would never be seen
by a human face. Instead, only charred
footprints would remain, homes and landscape marred.
by Belinda Roddie
The grass cooked underneath her flaming boots,
the harsh ribbons of smoke enveloping
the tails of her coat as she singed the roots
of trees and left oak leaves hot and crackling.
She was alight, in holy blaze, and did
not feel a single twinge of pain throughout
her body as she trekked, while ashes slid
across her shoulders, embracing the drought
that had sucked the earth dry. The harbinger
of disaster would scorch the forest green,
and while the fire would rage, this old bringer
of catastrophe would never be seen
by a human face. Instead, only charred
footprints would remain, homes and landscape marred.
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