Poem: Running from Burning Houses by Andrea Fekete

Your lover’s angel wings turned overnight

like white apple core exposed to air.

You told yourself next time 

you’d sense rot inside pristine

white fruit. You’d smell poison

in the well before cupping water

to your lips.

Next time, you’ll wake

at the first hint of smoke,

well before flames lap dangerous

at the bedroom door. Climb

out the window, bare feet

touching frozen lawn and run

into the night, into snow,

into dark, run anywhere but into another

burning house.