Arsonist

But maybe,
she decided, looking east
down the road,
it was for the best.

No bus lurched forward
at the given time,
no cars came,
her suitcase stood heavily
by her legs,
a guard dog against
going home again.

The corn swished and clicked
its tongue at her,
silly girl
silly girl
the rustling whispered
as the sun trailed off to
some faraway place.
Leaving her by the dusty 
road to wait
or go,
to die
or fly.

And so it was made 
by the gods of fate
a car swooped by in 
the wee hours of night,
the stars still blinking awake,
and she climbed inside 
fearless,
on her face at least,
as the car bumped
her stomach along 
like hospital cafeteria jell-o.

A gone, gone girl.
As the fireflies smashed
against the windshield,
and left their glow for
a moment more,
before they were 
gone, gone too.

Before the corn 
could say
good-bye
silly girl,
little one
without a home.

Before the smoke
could sting her eyes
again, as the ashes
of her old life drifted down
like dust motes
on the wind.