The Konza Is on Fire

-Konza Prairie Fire-

Tucked in the hills of Manhattan
beyond paved roads and light pollution
Kansas is ripped open
and a prairie is delivered.
The land contracts and the sky dilates
as the Konza grass sways to
the beckon of a gentle breeze.

Annual fires dance
upon these hills, for it has been said:
“Without fire this would be a forest”
(True, you can lose direction in the woods,
but tall grass hides more than just your feet)
So we pay with
smoke and aborted baby

But I am no dousing rain;
They say it needs done and
I believe it. It’s just-- with
my feet here in the dirt
I can’t help but feel like a
newborn tree; delivered
from last years fire, not wanting
to be ash again.