decisions
four fires
in one day
in our county
today
I tell my son
of the first smoke plume I saw
years after moving here
none more seen for years
now there’s something new
in the weather forecast –
fire watch:
like tornados, but longer
more hot windy nervous weather
on the horizon
how many go bags
should we pack?
how far away is far enough?
how close is still safe?
The View from Bear Peak
we climb Bear Peak
and take in the beige haze
the magenta slurry line
the brown and black trees
of the NCAR Fire’s modest burn
and the forest-green line
where the grass fire is regrowing
we see a plume of smoke
out toward Lagerman perhaps
and look toward Lyons
to be sure that fire’s out
our puppy swims
in the Cragmoor stock pond
already green in April
and later that afternoon
when he vomits three times
we worry about blue green algae,
which kills dogs within hours
no one we’ve known
has lived this way
not knowing what to expect
from the earth or the sky
this wariness toward the land
and the toxins all around
disorienting, exhausting, disheartening
disconnection mounts
and fear moves in
so much that once was a balm
becomes another source of dis-ease
missed beat
we have been so restrained
so quiet and solitary
conscientious and clean
that walking into the high school
with open faces feels like a dare
like living wild
and when the band begins bouncing to the beat
striking their drums and marimbas
with the pent-up energy we’ve all kept tamped down
and – even crazier – we all start emptying our lungs
with long loud indoor cheers
for everything –
the proficient kids
our survival
the back-tingling joy of having hope for a moment
the crash of noise we can finally sink our fear inside
we sense we’ve arrived
at a new kind of fearlessness
for all these reasons
we salute you, Warriors –
you’ve put a beat
back in our chests
unmasking
Thinking of our relatives who died from diphtheria: my grandfather’s mother Rosemary Farley Schaaf (seen in the sidebar photo here), my grandmother’s sisters Frances and Josephine Barber, and Alex’s grandmother’s siblings Ruth and Bert Waldman.
Friday they will unmask us
and what will our faces do?
twitch nervously or beam gratefully?
after two years of suspended anticipation
my hope muscles have atrophied
I’ve lost the knack for moving on, moving forward
we’ve no link with the 1918 survivors –
the year my grandfather was born,
he’d no memory of it
instead, diphtheria is the story my husband and I grew up with:
four of our grandparents’ siblings and one mother claimed
while our grandparents were still children
now we get the Tdap or DTaP shot and
our grandparents’ devastating loss feels like
something from a different world
but those 1918 flu survivors –
how did they shed their masks and re-emerge?
how did masking become unknown to us all again?
I’ve lost my bearings for judging what is safe
I don’t even know what Greek letter comes next
let alone how to recognize it hovering on the horizon
it’s like trying to judge which smoke is from California
and which is from the next block
ready to claim what’s yours
in these days
when threats are everywhere
and we’ve grown unacquainted with joy
I still can’t imagine bringing my naked face
somewhere it could calmly swallow
anything new
whether to know
two ways today I’m asked
if I want to know
what’s in the air we’re breathing
and the answer is
I don’t know
because we can’t stop bringing it into our bodies
and we aren’t the type to pick up and move
the numbers may tell us
what we don’t want to hear
but if we don’t know
at least we don’t know
Margaret says,
We’re doomed. And?
Sarah says,
Don’t give your worries swimming lessons.
I say,
When can I just breathe easy?
And, will my children ever?
Annie’s Story
when her 8-year-old son kept saying
I don’t want to die today
she calmly explained
that wouldn’t happen
they were safe
the fire was a long way away
they would leave if it ever got close
a few hours later
trapped in gridlock
with the smoke plumes getting darker
her family split between
different cars and departure times and friends
she’s nearly overcome by the unbearableness of
stasis in the midst of terror
jammed in this long line of sitting ducks
straddling gas tanks
so she asks the traffic control lady
if she’s still going the best way,
and the lady shakes her head and says,
there are a lot of people getting hurt up there
(which later proved to be false,
but then she’d no way to know)
afraid to learn exactly how close the flames are now
she wills herself not to check the messages on her phone
instead she calls her National Guard brother
pleading for him to find her an exit
thinking to herself
I don’t want to die today
but even with his emergency ops experience
and all the info he is calm enough to marshal
all her brother can tell her is stay where she is –
north is the only way
now she says, everyone miraculously safe,
things aren’t the same
sometimes it’s like my nervous system is outside my body
she says
like there is no buffer between the world and me
I will never leave my husband’s side in an emergency again
she says
I wanted us to be together if something happened
I will never wait for an evacuation order again
she says
by the time they order you it’s too late
the roads are packed solid
I’m glad I took my rings
but I didn’t really need my wedding photos –
more of those exist
my main regret is I didn’t grab my grandmother’s box
it goes between my mom and uncles
so they have turns with her memories
my mom had loaned it to me
and I would have let them down
if I’d let it burn
one of the hardest moments was
picking up my daughter from her friend’s.
she asked me if our home was gone
and all I could say was
I don’t know
It wasn’t
I’m one of the lucky ones
and I’m still crying every day
waiting for the wave to break
we’ve swum out to to where it forms
where ocean piles itself up
yawns into solid cliff
now waiting for the crushing violence
the thunder of collapse
not knowing quite how
we’ll get caught up in its path
perspective
on this first full green-blue day of panicked spring
I cup a little brown mouse in my palm
put my lips to her round warm ear
and whisper
until every last fear has exited my chest
in a slow stream of warm urgent breath
carrying bits of my heart and mind
into her delicate nervous system
she blinks
twitches her whiskers
pats my thumb with her paw
as if to say
oh sweet one
imagine having a nestful of blind babies
surrounded by silent owls
you never know
when disappointment may come
all you can do
is greet the sun
with whatever semblance of thanks you can muster
any day it deigns to shine
love in a time of uncertainty
when death hovers on the porch
and everything that usually matters
stands still
love means someone you can
show your fear
and speak its name out loud
someone who wants to
hold your hand anyway
someone who says
in all the swirl of unknown to-bes
look into my eyes
like when we’re dancing
maintaining our equilibrium
while the rest of the world dissolves
into a blur of bright color
and rhythmic noise
we’ll hold each other upright
smiling through the spin
Llanquihue
in the postcard-perfect panorama
surrounded by white peaks
that sometimes glow red
all is well –
grebes dive
and the mist does not descend –
at least
not right now
