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burn baby burn

The cemetery is
burning down.
Dad is on the
roof, hose in
hand and I
try to catch
the floating ash.
Tree burn smell
fills my nostrils
and I don't yet
know to fear
the moving flames.
Mom collects treasures
in order of importance:
baby pictures, underwear,
jewels and I clutch
my doll in one
hand. Me and my
brother go down
the block where
the neighborhood
kids are gathered and
we watch the
fire planes dive
and drop their loads
of red suffocation.
The fire runs
up the valley and
from where I
stand I can see
angels burning
in a eucalyptus bower.

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