Firestorm

slowly, the smoke covered the sky, blinding in its billowing, the bellows of flames burning the land, and the hope of living another day

gasping for breath inside the inferno, fingers charred, trying to clear a path to flee, the realization comes that staying low is the best way to survive

the smell of rubber burning tells me the hose is toast

then -

I think of past days when I burned the toast and slathered it with peanut butter, so yummy

What the hell are you thinking? This is life or death.

soot on my tongue, panic rising, trees burning from the ground to their canopies surrounding me

a swirling fire, spinning like a top, there's a fire cyclone next to me

toasted marshmallows and melting chocolate squares, smashed between graham crackers -S’mores, called that because they make people say, I want some more.

I taste ice-cold lemonade in my mouth, this hot August day

Stay low, stay low, someone whispers (who, me?), crawl out, hurry now

inhaling deeply, I feel fire in my chest

staying low, seeing the bright orange canopy above, I mumble, It’s on fire.

I lick chocolate from my charred fingers, then dip them into the iced lemonade and suck them, one by one.

stay low, low, low - heat rises - stay low

Finally. I see it all.

The forest is on fire, smoke billowing, and deer run toward the river that snakes in curvy and sharp turns. They dodge the ash, and it spits, hitting the cold river.

I sip the lemonade, licking my healed fingers, watching in awe as fire consumes the land.

Understanding suddenly looms. There is the arsonist watching from a cliff. He has a twinkle in his eye. Never mind, the lemonade and S’mores hold my interest.

Neither rain nor rescue comes, while the fire blazes onward, that devil safe on his cliff.

And I? I'm complete in my rest, filled with lemonade, S’mores, and glorious childhood memories.

Copyright © 12/19/2025 by Andrea O. Corwin

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