Naming Banshees

We
call them
fire hairs.
Split circuits.
Impending
avalanches and
tire teeth
and twisty
glasses shot through.
The one in the corner,
she is
Alphabet.
The one behind her,
Aloha, forever
indecisive
about what exactly
it is she’s warning.
She looked
at the stop
sign this morning
and shrilled at it.
We
call them
fire hands.
Burning our fingers
on their breath.
They’ve been here
for months
and we keep wondering
what end they’re announcing—
has it already happened
and they are only here to mourn?

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