doggiebag by Avery London (15, California)

[Content warning: wildfire, mention of death]

I saw her pray to the burning trees & hungry frogs ​

throats open. Licking leaves. Ashing the sparkle. 
Don't you remember what starless night smelt like? 
Ten thousand crisp knuckles packaged under broiling critters 
the children of petroleum & lighting fever.

---

​It's our God, she said

It’s our God. ​

Begging my sister is like begging a stump: 
it won’t uproot if you scream at it. 
Eldorado Forest winked, chuckled, spewed plumes of birds 

Oh God, she whooped, why isn’t she coming out?!? ​

It’ll be okay Naomi it’ll be okay it’ll be okay ​

I held her baby-weathered hand & watched an accident ravage 
a bleeding heaven-scar straight through the canopy of 
mocking firs & crackling gooey frogs 
they used to sing, now they bite their tongue & wait for nosediving flies. 

Tell me that Placerville & Jackson & the Mother Lode liked haircuts.

They cozied the feeling 
of lost dogs. Dead mothers. 
Those little things left behind. 

Tell me they’d look you in the eyes 
six & a half & tear-drenched 
& whisper 
Remember, Mr. 
take some for the road. 

Don’t tell anyone, but I squirmed when we prayed together 
& took turns rolling in the grass, yapping 
‘till the firemen schlepped us 
out of amphibian soup with a metal ladle. 
The aluminum rungs kissed a bouncing siren. 

Mama. 
Wisp to Summer’s loaf. 
Did you like feeling warm again?​

Did you like it when ​

a house became an ember ​

& a dog was a star? ​

I know you miss her, 
but don’t worry, Naomi. 
I’ll call the frogs to 
yodel again next year.