Fall's Charred Breakfast
The croissants of buttered hills
glisten in the searing marmalade
of August's arid oven.
September's cinnamon swirl
scorches muffin-colored homes,
the flames smothered
as October rains
send lives and mud
sliding into the ravines
like apple butter.
On Thanksgiving morning
survivors eat fall's charred breakfast,
then praise God in church.
In the milk of spring
they rebuild,
just like the last time
and the time before that.
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