soot ovenbird Two doors down, the smoke alarm is screaming again. The man who lives there is inexplicably burning his past in the fireplace as spring melts into summer. Vaporized rage escapes from the chimney while he growls nonsense and kicks at the walls. The burnt hair smell of a consciousness combusting comes in through the screens. Fine particulate catches in the back of my throat and I cough. You can’t save a life that doesn’t want saving, so I close the windows, spit soot into the sink, and rinse away the ashy residue of an anguish that isn’t mine to carry. 250618 what's it to you? who go blather from