It was only a little fire
meant, perhaps, merely to singe
the edges of the written page
or spark a torch to pierce
the forest gloom.
There was smoke on the horizon
and it grew
closer until our lungs were choked,
our eyes weeping, red without end.
Preserve us from the slumber of the just
and let the rains rain down.
Let sleepless nights become
The palace is burning.
Strike the calendar from the wall
and let us arise and go.
Across the way the sugar maple
blazes under the bluest sky.
Imagine that winter will pass.
Imagine that a year from now
the maple will still be standing.
– W. Luther Jett
W. Luther Jett is a native of Montgomery County, Maryland, whose poetry has been published in numerous journals, including: The GW Review, Poetica, Syncopated City, Synæsthesia, ABRAXAS, Scribble, Beltway, Innisfree, Xanadu, Haiku Journal, Steam Ticket, Potomac Review, and Main Street Rag. His poetry performance piece, Flying to America, debuted at the 2009 Capital Fringe Festival. He has been a featured reader at many local venues, including The Nora School, the Summer 2009 Joaquin Miller Cabin Series, Zed Cafe, the Kensington Row Bookshop series & Aah Coffee. His chapbook, “Not Quite” has recently been published by Finishing Line Press.
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