after Cameron Awkward-Rich
When I wake my dream turns to ash as I reach for it. Outside the world turns to ash as I reach for morning. The rivers dry. Lakes dry. The icecaps hurl themselves from their own cliffs. I have never felt so helpless or I have always felt so helpless. The house where I grew up is ash. The house my mother moved to after is ash. So much fire. I feel like I’m being dramatic to mention it. Crying wolf. Only we’re killing the wolves by killing the forests. Chicken Little, then. All the old cautionary tales. In the dream we were not touching. The sky was not falling, it was burning. The dream was of you. I’m sure it was you.