SEPTEMBER

​News of the fires and floods
keep pouring in. Down south,
 
a city lies half-submerged
underwater, and up north
 
dozens of houses burn down.
If you close your eyes,
 
you can almost smell the smoke,
you can almost see it unfurl
 
its slate-colored cape
over the countryside. How fragile
 
we are. How easily we burn
or drown, require heat
 
but not smoke, require water
but not so much
 
that it swamps our homes. Here
it’s so hot that I can’t touch
 
the steering wheel without potholders.
We are all waiting
 
to go up in smoke. No,
we are waiting for the rainfall
 
we dream of to drown us,
defenseless and terrified
 
and alive.