Timothy Thomas McNeely
Last night the moon was red. We were
floating down the Cuyahoga River,
my brother singing Randy Newman
while a fire leapt across the actual Columbia.
Cle Elum kept on burning. And this ash
from the Norse Peak Fire settled softly
on everyone’s tents and camp chairs.
Ashfall mixed with dew, and ash in the air.
The sun is filtered rose-red and rare:
a heat lamp keeping half the order warm.
We are ill-prepared, self-immolated
in this ritual of fire, fat and ash.
Sickly snow on a coal-hot summer day
bereft of gods: the rivers no protection.
Timothy Thomas McNeely lives in Tacoma, Washington, where he is a husband and father of four. He earned his MLitt in poetry from the University of St Andrews and studied literature and philosophy in the UK and Canada. His poetry has recently appeared in Gravel and Creative Colloquy. He also appeared in the inaugural edition of Cascadia Rising Review. Find him on Twitter at @ttmcneely.