Even after long hours in

sweet dreams elsewhere

I awaken with the sun

and watch the quiet road

no one really stirring, though

the incinerator never sleeps.

Burning things ejected from

your house and your

neighbours house and

their aunties house and

the heat haze makes the

horizon shimmer even

though the roof tiles

are frost kissed, no, bitten

I mistake them sometimes.

Every day the sun reaches

curious fingers around

my neck, and

I sit and watch a world

that did not stop burning

set ablaze again.

Look in the green eyes of

a nervous cat that sits

restless at my side,

understand her fear of

loud noises and outside.

The world is burning,

even when I sleep

knots in my stomach

tighten like a noose

I didn’t tie,

wrapped twice around

my neck in stupor

sweet dreams no longer

soothe when the

day tastes bitter,

still

I awaken choking on

the ashes of every

lie I told myself.

The world is burning but

my bed is cold and

long dark winters seem

to stretch beyond

endurance,

solitude can

be cacophony,

rattle of rain drumming

against the window

in the rhythms of war

I wonder when their

guns turn to me

will I remember to smile?