Volcano- By Julia Ting

scarved, gift-wrapping ribbons of lava
bleed over charcoal like
syrup on ice cream. they chase chase 
chase and raze, chase and raze.
It is a tie in tictactoe, but instead of x’s
and o’s it’s fear and destruction,
dotted along the grid of the mountain.
that is what is not happening.
this is what is happening:
gray. arsenic. ash. battleship. platinum. slate. black.
sweet strokes seven shades of gray
a painter’s eye lazily caressing the sky.
the peak of the mountain hazed slightly
in the smoke of fog. 
red the color of flames
splashed along the quiet wasteland. 
it is a dream here, no sign of
pen or paper or 9 empty
squares waiting for letters.
it is nothing.
nothing but a
catatonic catastrophe.