by Kristin LaTour
Outside, the yellow-orange fire of leaves waves
like small hands on black, thin boughs of maple.
Inside, the TV news shows a cement truck rip into flames.
The five second shot is aired silently, over and over:
dirty window, cement truck, flames, smoke.
I cannot hear the wind outside my window
yellow leaves
black boughs
three more US soldiers killed
sky
clouds
Kristin LaTour is a poet and professor living in Aurora, IL, with work published in After Hours, Rambunctious Review and Pearl and in a chapbook from Pudding House.
