In the fall, the forest burned down & it was not a metaphor

& on the hill by the house it was like being on the hill by the house,
& a fire was like a fire.

& everything was on the edge of what I had to say,
& I thought I was a peach too ripe to eat in a field of artificial turf,

& actually, I was class-A crude oil, heavy metal residue, orange blossom candle
& awoke in a world where horses were still horses

& there were newspapers
& whatistherelefttodo? was an excuse that put its breathless fingers in my breathless mouth.

& the streetlights burned green
& the sky was the bare-orange phosphorescent inside of the sky

& I became a real estate sign, sighing its way into the ground;
& I became centuries of mismanagement.

& the streetlight looked at me like a streetlight
until my grief became grief. until I had to look back.

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Sadie Forkner is a student and community member at the  Johnston Center for Integrative Studies at the University of Redlands.  They write poetry, nonfiction, and occasional reviews, and are the  recipient of the 2023 Jean Burden Poetry Prize. They are currently interested in parties, airport art, and the rock band Cocteau Twins.