Arson in the Foreclosures
There is a smell in the house
Of burning hair and charred wood
Oak crumbling and keratin curdling
You check the burners, the oven
No flames, no gas, the gas has been
Turned off for a month
No melting plastic of a bread bag
Set too close to the range
You try to not think of the time you
Left the burner on all day, with your cat
In the house, and you came home and
Put it out, rattling the knob like locking
Out a criminal, the flame retracting like
A secret
You check the candles, the heater
The backs of appliances, you unplug
Everything you can find
The smoke alarm, which you set off
Burning too many oily sandalwood sticks
Last week, is silent, just a constant red
Light like the end of a cigarette
You lie in bed, telling yourself it’s nothing
As your room fills up with smoke.
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