Walking the Pulitzers (Hunyh Cong Út, 1973)
the burning, burning and we stood
like trees lit up by an empty
fire, a fire we could feel in the crevices
of our fingers. Flames rained our blue-lit sky,
one then another, limbs bare and voices
barren, our skin almost-ashes in acid.
We yell through the dust
on our tongues, run on these naked
feet, on this road turned wax, and the clouds
could see it all, as if they’d spent years waiting
to squeeze their hot venom on us. How
we used to juice lemons into our mouths
from the balcony in winter.
Lilia Dobos is a current Graduate Teaching Assistant studying TESOL at Salisbury University. Her other publications include Barely South Review, New Mexico Review, The Quaker and forthcoming work in Red Flag Poetry.