The form of tragedy

I’m grateful for the chimney,
The open throated flue that directs the smoke
Into the waiting air, where it becomes the scent
Of all autumn memories. I’m grateful
There is a way to keep the fire,
Impersonal as AI, a round multiplying virus,
From burning down my house.

I’m grateful though I needn’t be:
I set the fire, laid the wood cross-wise.
It was my choice, it was all my fault.

Ruin beckons.

Daisy Bassen is a poet and practicing physician who graduated from Princeton University’s Creative Writing Program and completed her medical training at the University of Rochester and Brown. Her work has appeared in Oberon, McSweeney’s and [PANK] among other journals. Born and raised in New York, she lives in Rhode Island with her family.