Mom.  
            Mom,  

My skin,  
is alight.  
My fur, singed
like the surrounding brush
of my home
and your home (and their home)
alike.  
Each breath
and step  
that I take  
secures a winded grip  
from within my chest
as the crackled
orange embers, spread  
their scorching grasp
across the rest,  
of my feeble body.  
–For a moment–  
I, am picked up
in a heated embrace,  
then dropped
like a child  
gets disinterested  
with one toy
before pillaging
to the next.  

Mom.  
            Mom?

This isn’t a warm hug-   

We’re burning.