voluntary evacuation zone

                               “in the span of a decade the river dried up and all the land burned.”

                                                                                                                          –my sister

they said the fire was moving in the opposite direction.
we’re fine. class isn’t canceled.

walked onto saint monica’s & turned right back around. plumes
higher than the mountains. i pointed. look at the red. we’d grown
up on The Land Before Time             sobbed for little foot’s shadow
it was raining silent hill ash just from open doors
we          have      to          go
cradled crates of old journals & first edition harry potter books
the cat meowing as i sat & wondered
if i’d lose the mariachi bands playing in the street
on easter day      the armenian weddings shouting vows
outside my apartment window                 the church
of my childhood faith singing ‘all are welcome here’

i didn’t take any photographs but the ones i saved
any evidence of the apocalypse came from other people’s
phones. the prettiest places i’d ever seen became
a wasteland. what do books & journals mean
when there’s nothing left to write about?

the second time i sat packed & waiting            give me the signal
the almighty sign to head for the hills              little feet
racing across ash.              pompeii in my backyard.

i would’ve stayed here for the rest of my life.

Molly Likovich is an ancient forest specter from Maryland with a BA in Creative Writing from Salisbury University. Her poems have been published in Rust + Moth, Bluestem, The New Mexico Review, and more. In 2017 she won Honorable Mention in the AWP Intro Poetry Journal Award, in 2021 her indie poetry collection Not a Myth was a #1 New Release in Women’s Poetry on Amazon, and in 2023 she was a Semi-Finalist in The Nation’s National Amateur Poetry Contest. She can also recite the entirety of The Lorax by heart.