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The northern forests are burning.
Here 500 miles away
Smoke hangs over our valley
The tops of buildings like islands
On a white sea. The smell slides
Into our house like a virus
As we breathe the toxic air.
So this is what it feels like,
The end of the world
We know. White air,
Brown water. So many days
Of getting and spending,
So many arguments over trivia,
Even poetry, even love.
Each morning listening, writing.
On the wire above the street
A line of birds, silent in the smoke
Copyright 2023 Michael Simms
Michael Simms is the founding editor of Vox Populi. His books include American Ash (Ragged Sky, 2020).

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Val d ‘Or https://docs.google.com/document/d/1BNtf7q6crMxkfWQZJTXIde-WJh4s8D7IsBQXB1BwDwg/edit?usp=drivesdk Hi Michael. It seems the wildfires are impacting many of us. I wrote this earlier this week, from our home in Northern NY.
Laura
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Thanks, Laura. Yes, the impacts of climate change chaos are being felt just about everywhere.
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Such a devastatingly beautiful and honest poem, Michael.
“The end of the world
We know. White air,
Brown water. So many days
Of getting and spending,
So many arguments over trivia,
Even poetry, even love.”
Even love!😢
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Thank you so much, Lisa!
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Here, too. The morning grit in my eyes is the residue of that smoke. Love this poem, Michael, from the front lines, you, reporting.
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Mary Jane, thank you! Yes, the poem was written quickly without revision, the way I’d speak to a friend who lives far away.
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I like that about it.
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Beautifully crafted poem, Michael. I especially like the image of the building tops as islands in the sea of smoke and the ending–oh, my, those silent birds. Perfect. Clela
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Thanks so much, Clela!
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Everyone knows what’s at stake, and nobody does anything about it. Not timely, not enough. I fear for my grandchildren’s future especially. Perhaps it won’t even take that long.
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Oh sadly, I’m in agreement with you.
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“A line of birds, silent in the smoke” – how beautiful – and painful Michael. With you in spirit and in heart
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Thanks, Noelle!
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