Song of a Prairie Fire

The choir sings off key. The notes creating A burning prairie in the darkness As their voices rise and fall in the crackle Of dry grasses groaning and snapping and the deep bass of the wind howling, smoke rolling Inside the Belle where the audience, A pallet of reds, yellows, browns, clouds of gray, sits, lifeless, heads nodding. And a baby’s cry pulls eyes to the back Where an apologetic mother shuffles between knees and seats singing her own song. “Sorry,” whispers. “Excuse me. Shhhhh. Shhhh.” She rocks the baby. Exits back. And the fire still burns in the throats of the choir Pulsating like the flames Which swirl and devour the dry grasses Consuming, taking, trembling in fear And we shift in our seats, lifeless, heads nodding, Waiting to exit back.