Letter: A poem about the Grizzly Creek fire

“Ashes on the Playground Slide” The horizon closes in. The hiking, the trees, the fox, the dead fox, the baby fox, the ticks, the rocks, the sun increases, the sundowns, the mountains, and obviously, the mountains. After climbing the slide, she hangs on a bar, counts to 10, bends her biceps, roars, and slides back down with ashes in her hands.

“Ashes on the Playground Slide” The horizon closes in. Every time I drove by and saw that exit off the states necessary artery, I thought, No Name, thats a real location with real individuals doing genuine things. The hiking, the trees, the fox, the dead fox, the baby fox, the ticks, the rocks, the sun increases, the sundowns, the mountains, and undoubtedly, the mountains. I got up to the table on the back patio covered in white ash, the air severe to breathe, and yesterdays clothing incensed like a camping area. After climbing up the slide, she hangs on a bar, counts to 10, bends her biceps, grumbles, and slides back down with ashes in her hands.