Past-Tense, First Creek Fire
I can’t capture it. Embers dance,
pierce stacking chairs, grape leaves,
plume behind the house as the lake laps.
Wind changes, you lose everything.
Fire sucks oxygen as I do. Creates
its own weather and lightning.
Forgive its hunger, it takes not
for revenge or historical hatred.
I wake to another infrared map,
expanding Rorschach veiled in red-dots.
Black x’s mark lines the fire won’t cross
unless it does.
Trees torch, pass it on
what fire touches is gone.
Used by permission of the author. Read more of Laura’s work here.