Little Fires Everywhere - Jan 23 2023

 

Little Fires Everywhere

Jan 23 2023

Little fires everywhere.

Until the smoke thickens,

wind picks up,

and the dull glow

you could glimpse in the underbrush

erupts in flame.

That's just life, they said;

there's always something

on the front burner,

you can't help but smell smoke.

And after all, it felt manageable

when it was kids playing with matches.

When it was running between

lightning strikes

dumpster fires

and tinder dry woods.

When it was OK

to wait for the rain

that had always come before.

But this feels different.

Spontaneous combustion.

A conflagration.

The world on fire.

The 3-legged stool

of oxygen, fuel, ignition.

An exothermic reaction

that once it gets started

feeds on itself.

I'm not sure what kills.

When the heat gets too much?

The smoke overwhelms?

There's no oxygen left?

And when all the fuel's consumed

     . . . what next?

Just an evocative expression I've often heard, and felt like riffing on. It's a good metaphor for busy lives. But as the poem goes on, one can't help but think about climate change as well.