We wake up to a red sky
the aftermath of a conflagration
like blood too fresh,
not yet crusted black.
It is a day of burning
the scent of smoke
like someone forgot
to turn off the heater
and left the house roasting.
Tomorrow, the sky will be
an off white
smothered rather than cloudy,
hiking plans thwarted
leaving miles of cars
driving up to the mall
but we hide under the covers
4 pm and it’s dark and cold
and a fire rages onward
from where the sky bleeds black.
Camp Fire
Lucy Zhang 