to let the plumes pass—why
was I here again

testing the depth of the smoke
with the back of my hand.

Things had been going hellishly for a long while
which meant many were making me hate

and now just me—

a voice I couldn’t place called out
saying maybe the fire will save the house,

did it mean spare.

There had been another flare-up
and I welcomed the staticky cry.

It did not ask for my help and I did not offer.

I was still counting down days to a new conception
instead of

hosing down the straw houses of my neighbors.

Ash landed on my cheek
it was a ladybug—

I didn’t even know what it was until it flew off in a gust.

There is a lot about others I don’t remember,
outliving an interest.

What is the point, the same voice said,

of remembering you are not the only one
blowing yourself down.