Kiki Slaughter

Like primitives
we pray for rains
not for the greening
of the crops but for
cleansing the skies
of acrid smoke

The lungs ache
from the weight
of scorched forests
even as hearts ache
for the creatures
being cremated

Driven by fear
they flee flames
flying as fast as feet
tree`top to tree`top
searching refuge
in Devil winds

Like primitives
we pray for rains
circle`dancing fires
with axes & spades
breaking against
the apocalypse


About Peter Notehelfer

I'm a retired people person who now finds the time to watch the little details of the world without worrying about being watched by anyone . . . I live on an Island north of Seattle with my wife named Ellen, a yellow dog named McGee, a yellow cat named Gatzby, and four fine chickens . . . I read fiction, bake bread, smoke salmon, and fish whenever the weather allows . . . Oh, and yes, I try to write a poem every day simply to avoid senility!
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