Cities burning.

 

An ash-filled river.

 

A few humans

 

like vessels washed in milk

 

pole boats

 

through the river’s sludge,

 

careful not to touch

 

the water.

 
 

A woman who fed us

 

reduced to salt and tar.

 

My mother

 

held me to the ground,

 

body like a roof.

 

She whispered an elegy

 

to her fur

 

as it burned.

 

I saw the pink of dusk

 

on the ground

 

as she sheltered me.

 

No screens.

 

No buildings

 

No cars.

 
 

Static left the air.

 

As we once did

 

we do so again

 

scratching images

 

on the bark of trees.