The sizzle hiss of ripe wheat in a South Wind anticipates
crackling fire—stubble scoured from the land.
The sun Browns my Back while That Man
steals my choices and smoke burns my eyes.
The smoke, a smudge against the Sandzén sky,
but my home is all green and gold and blue.
Like the battered wife, I love the one who chokes me.
Foxes and tiny lizards scuttle before and beneath.
I remember two summers ago when I saw four rainbows
in a single week—providing hope enough to feel grateful.
— Deborah McGeorge