the firetrucks and ambulances are humming and whistling outside, like kids do in their spare time. i can hear them from my window, those red and white animals singing and going their own ways. they came for us when i was five, when lightning struck the back porch, when smoke filled up all the rooms, when mama ran in and screamed. i spent the rest of the day sitting on ryan’s trampoline, waiting, watching the smoke curl up in the distance. now ambulances and firetrucks only pass me, they sing to me, their blue and red and white lights wave to me. they don’t come for me anymore. will they come again? and if so, when? will i be grey, will my grandchildren find me sleeping without beat, will i be young, will i be a splatter on the street, or will i be my own calamity. i don’t know. i don’t know when they’ll come for me, but they’ll come. for now they just sing.