poetry

Learning about the Marshall Fire

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My sister took this photo from her home on LaFarge Avenue shortly before evacuating.

This is in response to a prompt by Peter Rousmaniere, who is coordinating a project about the Marshall Fire involving local writers and photographers. He suggests, “Write down how you learned on December 30, what you did, and what were your very initial thoughts. Try to recall the details, for with details we often store in memory our emotions.” If you’d like to participate, please fill out this form: https://forms.gle/cdD4q1bMyhTkgzgo8. I have posted this photo before, but it is exactly how I learned about the fire.

Learning about the Marshall Fire

the news reached me vacationing in Fairplay
as a text from my sister who lives three blocks from us
a photo of the grey view from her Old Town upstairs
complaining about the smoke saying two fires were burning

too thick to be distant
but too deep into winter to seem threatening
and there not being much else to do in our cabin
I checked the Daily Camera website to see what I could learn

a grass fire in Marshall, fairly unremarkable
until I saw the single line that meant things weren’t okay:
Superior also released a statement
calling for all residents to be evacuated.

(our border is somewhat arbitrary
I’d thought Highway 36 until earlier this fall
when my booster shot appointment at the “Louisville” Walgreens
on McCaslin proved to have a Superior address)

I sent my sister a screenshot
and she texted back What?!?!
I went on Facebook and then Twitter
and found homes had begun to burn

when I saw the post of burning shrubs
at Via Appia and McCaslin
flames already uncomfortably close to Old Town
I called her and said I think you need to leave

How am I supposed to do that? she asked
meaning escape with toddler and four-year old and skittish dog
meaning grab some essentials and safely hustle into the car
meaning manage all the meltdowns and figure out where to go

There are flames at Via Appia and McCaslin
I repeated urgently
you need to get in the car and go.
Come to us in Fairplay, but get out now.

She called from the stalled traffic
and I tried not to think of flames advancing
warned her don’t go west
and 93 is closed

I didn’t take a deep breath until she was safely in Boulder
and then turned my attention to our three Louisville homes:
hers, my mom’s, and ours.
it wasn’t until the next day we learned that all three still stood

poetry

what it takes to save a town

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Louisville’s Public Works and Utilities team: Chris DePalma, Cory Peterson, Ben Francisco, Greg Venette, Shane Mahan, Tom Czajka, Matt Fromandi, Kurt Kowar, & Jeff Owens. (credit: Louisville’s Public Works and Utilities)

what it takes to save a town

we’re just starting to learn
what extreme acts it took
to keep some homes standing

luckily we missed the terror
of knowing all that night –
especially, how the water nearly ran dry

the public works crew drives back to the plant,
the Superior plant is offline
their generator burned
pumps now not running
which means one town’s water
is fighting for two

telephone poles burning beside them
they need to get more gas to the generators
drive fuel through the flame
miraculously, nothing explodes

so many systems down now
the Louisville crew knows
the only way to learn what water’s left
is to actually climb the tank
and peer down inside the hatch
in hurricane winds
in a firestorm

Jeff goes 20 feet up in the air
crawls on his belly
looks down into the gloom
and it’s worse than he thought
only two feet left

Shane and his crew
accompany the firefighters
house by burning house
shutting each charred ruin’s water off
so precious gallons can’t spew from severed pipes

and in an audacious act
Greg and Kurt decide
they’ll do whatever it takes
to feed those firefighter hoses
even throwing open
the precious pipes they’ve always guarded
to raw untreated water
something they’ve never contemplated
something one would never train for

they work 35 hours straight
putting their courage and ingenuity
on the line for our two towns

and, it works
and,
we’re forever thankful

poetry

Harper Lake Hope

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Harper Lake Hope

sometimes good news comes to greet you
when you hadn’t thought of looking it up for weeks really
hadn’t tried to imagine what it’s been up to
who it’s hanging out with
where it’s living these days

but there it is, right in your path
ready to clap you on the shoulder:
the big cottonwood still stands
its branches filled with stars
its every fiber a witness to these parched days

the flames didn’t even dare to lick its roots
and its whole patch of grass is still a dull January green
not black
and yes, its branches are covered with fat, conical buds

it’s going to keep spreading shade for all of us
drinking in what we belch out
and sending papery hearts out on the wind next fall

even when everything ceases to work
the way you thought it always would
sometimes a small miracle occurs
and wood makes sugar out of sun
and fresh air from our exhausted sighs
and filters glare to green
and we find we’ll still have a place to rest
where wind may slow to a whisper

poetry

instability rules

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instability rules

it may be their first move of several
she patiently explains –
the adjuster figures three months
of smoke remediation
but insurance will only approve
one month’s lodging at a time

so, by the time next month’s okayed
the Airbnb they’re in now
may be booked by someone else
and they’ll have to start all over
all over again

suddenly I see how these displaced children
won’t just be displaced once
families may be shuffled around
for months, or years
for those rebuilding

one thousand households
dwelling in uncertainty

instability rules

Uncategorized

Debris Removal Begins

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Debris Removal Begins

this is how things are now:
the flatbed tow truck tows not a car
but its bare metal remains
all parts melted to smoky pewter

where there was glass
there are holes
in place of tires
airy space

it’s unlike any car I’ve ever seen
except in war zone photos
and yet all around it
things seem normal

my husband says
he’s been on South Boulder Road three times today
and seen this scene each time
and, on our return home, we pass another

there’s a steady stream of casualties
being borne out of the burn as if on stretchers
I wonder what this morgue looks like,
all these car corpses lined up somewhere

it makes my skin crawl to see it
to get a glimpse at the intensity of those flames
to think about all the bits of all the things
now fused into the ground

but then the light turns
and our attention follows
and the sun still shines
to melt the snow

poetry

Build a Bedroom / Room Rally / Hope Lives Here

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Cover photo from the Hope Lives Here - Colorado Facebook Group.

Build a Bedroom / Room Rally / Hope Lives Here

Please consider supporting Lindsey McMorran’s Build a Bedroom project by purchasing an item from one of the wish lists she’s assembled for families displaced by the Marshall Fire. Join the Hope Lives Here – Colorado Facebook group to see what needs to be purchased next.

Lindsey’s rebuilding one bedroom at a time
letting kids who’ve had everything taken
dream up the space they’ll dream in next
then granting wish after wish

she hustles after what they’re missing most:
geodes, succulents, a zebra with a bow
she posts the lists, rallies the donors, pulls it together
then bam a kid opens a door to a brand new room

it’s easy to say things are just things
when you’ve still got all your things about you
but sometimes things are symbols or substitutes
standing in for people you’ve lost or days you loved

no, it won’t fill all the gaps, undo all the terror
but it is starting over with a bang
knowing so many care what you love
and wish you sweet dreams again

poetry

facing Harper Lake

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Photo by Chris Hansen of 9 News (KUSA).

facing Harper Lake

today a stranger and I made plans
to face the lake together

we’ve both been round its tame shore
enough times to expect the cottonwood to the south

and the Indian Peaks view to the west
but what we’re not quite prepared for

is what’s left of the homes we saw on TV
sending great jets of ravenous orange flame

into the night, seeming to burn for hours
with a tender couple silhouetted before that wall of fire

we know what a luxury it is
to not have seen it all yet

to not have to deal in the daily minutiae
of Right of Entry forms

and adjusters
(and knowing whether that’s -er or -or)

agents and policies and replacement everythings
rentals and architects and builders and plans –

plans, most of all –
no, we go about our days with the privilege

of not needing to plan much of anything,
able to choose when to face the lake

on our own terms,
a choice that couple never had to make

poetry

not painful net zero

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From https://www.engagelouisvilleco.org/togetheronclimate.

not painful net zero

oh powers that be,
prevailed upon to make net zero
not happen

may you instead find a way
to make net zero
not painful

we can’t exempt our way out
of December fire
or chronic drought
or climate catastrophe

we can’t have a future where
we can predict what the weather will bring
built on a present where
anything goes

don’t grandfather in the status quo
that makes it so hard
for so many
to breathe right now

and what are we to say
to the school kids
who came to council
pleading for this code?

who we already promised
we’d build better?
who we already told
we’d heard?

if money needs finding,
then find it –
as they say,
the banks are full

our town’s already blackened by carbon
and built on coal –
if you’d have blue skies someday
don’t give up on green now

poetry

even the police chief’s house burned

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Photo of Louisville Police Chief Dave Hayes by Steve Peterson, special to The Colorado Sun.

even the police chief’s house burned

I learn, this fact mentioned off-handedly
in an article about another officer
who also lost his home

and all the previous press conferences,
him standing calmly in that grey fleece,
one of his only clothes left, take on a new tenor

his clear-eyed steadiness despite
the incineration of his home for 32 years
attains a new level of grace

no, there was no earthly power
that could intercede with those wind-whipped flames,
no pull or clout or in to spare what would be taken

which makes it all the more astonishing
what we were granted: the schools, post office, hospital,
rec center, police and fire stations –

yes, much to be grateful for,
which doesn’t diminish the grief
the police chief felt that night

or that I feel now for him

poetry

my friend recounts evacuating

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my friend recounts evacuating

she needed her mother’s things most:
the inscribed book she gave her every birthday,
all the photos left of the two of them.
not having her mother, she needed what remained.

between the house and the car
the wind tore the stuffed animals
from her daughter’s arms,
sent them tumbling down the street –

just another loss that day,
another tribute claimed by wind.