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.
Jan 5, 2020
Jan 5, 2020 at 11:15 PM UTC
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.
Their climate crisis, is our climate crisis too.