You said bad men waited inside your mouth, which meant a fire was catching. We drove toward a cloud of smoke that rose above the city. In the mirror, I saw the wide belt strapped across your chest, and on the radio, men stormed the gates in another country. I do love you, you said, looking out. The window held the sun flatly. I held my breath. The brush had not been cleared in weeks, and the mountain prepared to burn.
From Forgive the Body This Failure (Four Way Books, 2018). Copyright © 2018 by Blas Falconer. Used with the permission of Four Way Books.