And then the sky opened.
The world filled with blood.
Cameras caught it all,
buildings wrenched
from their foundations,
anger and sirens and stench.
We were tired of marching,
of whispering,
sick from the reek of smoke.
By then, my parents were dead,
but they had seen it all before,
the waste and grief.
Fires spread out through four states.
Coyotes crept along the wooded avenue.
