i know, we know

the hills & valleys
are closer to us now
that the sky is sinking
in a disastrous
operatic crescendo

of smoke,
orange and black
of helicopter wings
that chop it all back
so, — just maybe, the sky
is fighting to rise

but we know very little
about stopping a flame
once a careless
match comment starts it off

i add loose-leaf
paper to the pile:
a ball of purple wax,
(the wick buried now)
some sea shells,
and i wonder if i look back

will my chittering dirty cups
sit quiet in the sink as
sirens gallop all around?

will my straw house stand naked
& privately gape at the orange
fire of sun shrouded in gray
flannel jackets of smoke?

we know nothing of stopping
a flame, —
we just watch it burn

::

for Real Toads

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22 Comments

  1. but we know very little
    about stopping a flame
    once a careless
    match comment starts it off

    Goodness that can represent both an actual fire and the match words spoken that bring flames. It is so scary to see the world around you caught up in flames. I remember driving home in 2014 and spot fires erupted all around us. The sky was an inflamed gray. Thanks so much for writing!

  2. “we know nothing of stopping
    a flame, —
    we just watch it burn”

    your images paint a picture of hopelessness and your endings caps it all very strongly

    much love…

  3. There’s such naked vulnerability in the place we call home, and little we can do when the flames come too close except flee and live our loved habitation behind. There is a certain fascinosum to that, the dream-like powerless dread of approaching flame that you capture so well. Half of Florida where I live is red-flagged these days, we burn right up to the start of the rainy season …

  4. A well written verse on the hypnotic power of flame and whilst a serious matter pushed my twisted mind into Disco inferno. Burn baby burn.

  5. A most exquisite write, Angie!❤️ Especially adore the conclusion 🙂

  6. The opening stanza paints a dramatic image, Angie, especially for someone like me, who lives in a flat, damp landscape. And then you introduce fire into the in the second stanza and the poem turns on the third stanza, becomes sinister and a little scary in:
    ‘will my chittering dirty cups
    sit quiet in the sink as
    sirens gallop all around?’

  7. You have written this with perfect pace and pause.. the scene unfolds, so one may almost smell the smoke and enter into the poet’s contemplative mood.

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