One More Day and Other Poems


One More Day

After people I kept rolling away rocks

to let the plumes pass—why
was I here again


testing the depth of the smoke
with the back of my hand.


Things had been going hellishly for a long while
which meant many were making me hate


and now just me—


a voice I couldn’t place called out
saying maybe the fire will save the house,


did it mean spare.


There had been another flare-up
and I welcomed the staticky cry.


It did not ask for my help and I did not offer.


I was still counting down days to a new conception
instead of


hosing down the straw houses of my neighbors.


Ash landed on my cheek
it was a ladybug—


I didn’t even know what it was until it flew off in a gust.


There is a lot about others I don’t remember,
outliving an interest.


What is the point, the same voice said,


of remembering you are not the only one
blowing yourself down.


The End That Followed

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