This isn't something I've seen before
My lungs are full of smoke,
My eyes can only see ash.
My car is covered in white and black speckles, smudging along the glass.
I get a text late at night;
"I'm safe."
Another one.
"We've evacuated."
Another one.
"The whole town had to evacuate."
I'm scared, less scared than my friends, probably.
They're out of their homes with no idea
If their house is going to make it.
But I'm still scared.
What if I have to leave my home?
I've been here for fifteen years.
I've only known this house.
There's no where for us to go.
What would I take with me?
Most likely my electronics.
And my favorite books.
My clothes.
My cats.
My box of memories.
I'm supposed to go to work later today.
I made red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting.
We're celebrating a coworker's birthday.
I don't think I can properly celebrate
When I know more than half of my friends
Are fearing their livelihoods.
Oh, God.
I never believed in you.
But please, end the fires in Davenport.
It's 0% contained.
I'm scared.
And I don't know what to do.
YOU ARE READING
Poems That I Form
PoesiI write poems that are me, Or rather what is in my head. It may be prose, Ponders, Sadness and grief; But who expected happy poetry anyways? If you wish not to see a crying girl, Then you're reading the wrong book. If you wish not to see the terror...
