Tonight's Poet Corner: Evacuation
Evacuation
by Belinda Roddie
Look how dark it is! I can't see
past the scorched horizon, can't glean
details save for the shadows charred
into stained glass tree fragments - all
color, no shape. And mostly, in the end,
orange in hue. I'll hold you the entire
ride to Grandmother's house, where we
won't receive inferno's hot kiss, save
from the desert afternoon's lips. Though
it's still difficult to ascertain anything
besides the endless haze, and the choking
odor of rubber smoke, and the malaphor
of burning the bridge when we get there.
by Belinda Roddie
Look how dark it is! I can't see
past the scorched horizon, can't glean
details save for the shadows charred
into stained glass tree fragments - all
color, no shape. And mostly, in the end,
orange in hue. I'll hold you the entire
ride to Grandmother's house, where we
won't receive inferno's hot kiss, save
from the desert afternoon's lips. Though
it's still difficult to ascertain anything
besides the endless haze, and the choking
odor of rubber smoke, and the malaphor
of burning the bridge when we get there.
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