California Fires, 2015
By Donna Becker
Sun through smoke
makes a pallid orange shadow.
Sunrises and sunsets, which might be glorious,
are a sinister pink,
Each leaf, usually a gift of green and grace,
is now only desiccated brown fuel.
The thin smell of smoke
makes me alert like an animal,
smoke carried for miles,
or maybe nearer?
The sound of each plane and helicopter
a possible harbinger.
Tiny fragments of black ash
on the wind -
someone’s home burned and scattered,
flying in pieces high in the atmosphere
The breeze warm on my skin
shakes the dry leaves in warning.