(for Annelise Cochran and the people of Lahaina)

If you are inclined to heed the signs,
you might.

Wait. Here.

You might hunker down, pause,
expecting hoping wishing for instructions
about what to do next.

Sometimes they come.
Often they do not.

If you are not so inclined, you may
forge ahead, heedless of the flames
flaring on both sides of the road,

call to a stranger also trying to flee,
Jump in! And when they do, keep going,
because moving is better than not. Maybe.

Or perhaps you climb over the sea wall
as your town burns around you,
cling to rocks battered by incoming surf
with a neighbor as sparks wing onto
the back of your neck, your legs, your nose,

embers etching the tiniest heart into
your thigh, which you take as a sign—

love is here—

and you hold tighter to your neighbor
waiting for the fire to burn itself out
now that it’s reached the sea.

Wait. Here.

To move or to stay, never an obvious answer,
though you may cry to a god you might or might
not believe in, helpmehelpmehelpme.

They say prayers are always answered.
Yours in the shape of a tiny heart that,
as the long night wears on, you’ve decided
to have permanently inked on your strong,
surviving self.

•••

You can read Annelise Cochran’s story of surviving the fires in Lahaina, Maui, here.