That day the pine forest
a quarter-mile down the road
caught fire. Ponderosas, loblollies,
stalwart Southern titans: all charred pillars,
jagged wooden stalagmites now.
That was the day Louise
left home for good. The pungent
smell of burning timber, the black
buttress of smoke above the cedar trees
near the house, seemed to speak to her,
like smoke signals.
Heart on fire,
she backed up the rusted Chevy pickup,
pointed it toward Memphis
and drove like mad,
the wildfire behind her,
smouldering expectations before her.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem