christina kelley

I.

I wake up

To the thick smell of smoke and

The deafening sound of fire truck sirens.

Across the street, the park

Is burning.

The orange flames engulf the playground

Where I once played.

Our neighbors gather outside,

Whispering.

I am inside,

Silent.

II.

Grasslands has burned before.

A friend named Jay

Taught us jump rope

Rhymes and served us popsicles;

Our feet would hit the ground in a steady

Rhythm as the cool treats hit the warm

Pavement. But when his dad burned down

His house in a fit of rage, he was forced

To move and jump rope was never the same.

III.

I pretend I don’t hear the murmurs

From downstairs – talk about moving

To a safer place, but I don’t understand

Because the boys who burned down

The park have already been arrested.

It would be a long time before I understood

The depth of the decision my parents

Had to make.