after Charlotte Smith’s “Sonnet LXX.
(On Being Cautioned against Walking
on Headland Overlooking the Sea,
Because It Was Frequented by a Lunatic.)”
Ah—no one told you.
That solitary wretch on
the cold cliff was me.
Tonight A. A. Milne’s beloved forest
is burning, tall flames overtaking
the very small animals, smoke choking
rabbits as they flee. No one knows
how it started, and no one
saw the owl emerge. Either he’s still in there
or he got away.
Tomorrow experts on the news will tell us
this is not a tragedy. All’s not lost, says one forest ranger,
indicating the destruction behind him. Within four weeks
we’ll have grass growing. In six months you probably won’t know
too much has gone on here.
ABOUT THE ARTIST
Kate Horowitz is a poet, essayist, and science writer in Washington, DC. Her work has most recently appeared in Small Poems for the Masses, Butter, and rose quartz. She has work forthcoming from Yes Poetry. She blogs at thingswrittendown.com and tweets @delight_monger.
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