I would be lying if I said it was the first time I saw a mountainside marked in gold
a forest full of birdsong
reduced to a memory
in its place are its blackened remnants
I cant count on my fingers how many times I’ve seen
the sun rise red
or how many days
I’ve gone without seeing the sky
confusing snow with falling ash
I’ve already said goodbye to the places I love
maybe it’ll hurt less now than later
later could be 10 years from now,
next summer or tomorrow
but our mother is burning
and soon we will too