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.


Image credit:Connar L'Ecuyer/National Park Service/public domain

I live in the Berkshires in Massachusetts, retired from a University teaching job in Minnesota. My poems have appeared widely, mostly online, in journals based in the U.S. and abroad. Several have been nominated for the Pushcart and Best of the Net. I have published thirteen poetry collections, the most recent of which are A Landscape in Hell, Why Glass Shatters, and o filho da bebedora de cafe (The Coffee Drinker’s Son), translated into Portuguese by Francisco Jose Craveiro de Carvalho.