Poetry

Evening Fields

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Why does this smoke suffocate me
to the past? I wore my orange
hot sweatpants, and they whooshed
with friction when I ran.
Burning and burning
until I inhaled the field all up.
Burning ground, burning nose,
burning lungs, burning heart.
The corn, the fire,
my quickened legs, and the
pink sunset flamed through the fumed air
of a daily cleansing act.
Burning and burning
We have to burn it all away.
Burn the impurities away.
Baptize it with fire.
Burry the past.
Smoke in my eyes,
tears running down my cheeks.
Exhausted legs
Exhausted surviving.
We can’t get it clean.
We can’t burn it all away.
Dirt doesn’t burn.
Fear fuels fire.
Burning and burning
The match is struck.
The spark has started,
Smoke surrounding,
Fire blazing.
Green life smoldering.
And I realize,
I have to breath,
and keep on breathing:
what a bittersweet smell;
Breathing and breathing
The past burned in fire
The past branded with fire
On my heart,
in my veins,
in my eyes.
Burry me until I’m green again.
Set me free from fear of fire.
Burning and burning
We can’t suffocate the past.
We can’t stifle its smoke.
Still the scent inflames
but does not burn up my lungs.
Breathing and breathing

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