Leaving the mountain

I cannot smell the smoke
but above me the sky is tangerine
or perhaps blood orange
Why do we so often seek edible metaphors?
Unlike the fruit
this sky contains no moisture

 
In refracted light
we load life’s cargo
mine is quiet
womb-wriggling stilled
by adrenaline
my son’s red-slicked face
too fearful to contemplate
we calmly pack the car

 
I leave you now
your misguided hero’s carapace
impervious to my pleas

 
I toss the woollen blanket inside
a stupid, careless gesture
its ember pocked fibres
your shield from glass-melt heat
there will be times I wish
I had taken it with me

 
The car noses out of the driveway
it could drive this road itself
on this surfeit of molten tarmac
we travel alone,
our descent slowed by a water truck
its load splashing, a liquid hypnotist
each pearled drop a promise
fluid counterpoint to peripheral flame

 
I glance to the right, for look I must
this fiery thunderhead inhales
sucking my lullabies from the air
it would inhale the car
but for the firmness of my grip
we reach the town but do not stop

 
smoke flanks that bitumen ribbon
I have threaded fire’s needle

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