Fire Drill

The News predicted days for rain with heat;
supposedly the driest time of year.
Outside, my shirt would snatch and to stick to it—
my skin—but they had called us out for fear
against some future fire. I calmly trudged
down long flights of stairs—as ground grew near
I grew excited!—the workday now I judged
disposable; a welcome break in time,
a pinprick point, a final force that nudged
me out from many months that groped like grime—
I birthed myself into a brilliant light.
My eyes finally adjusted—it was sublime
euphoria for a long moment; bright
day announced itself, as trees I’d forgotten
were there, now basked with me in loss of night.
“They had captured my spirit” as something rotten
crept away from thought—I was again
as neighbor with the earth and others beholden.
Something stirred the elements, then the rain
fell gently on our assembly. Lesser sports
evading this dashed back into their pain
avoiding confrontation, back to forts
that they imagined kept them cold and safe.
While those of us who stayed, became dangerous sorts
that forgot to return, despite the comfort of reports.



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