“We don’t know
what we’re doing next,”
they said.
“Just expect
that you’ll catch the virus,
so leave instructions at your desk.
“There may be no one
to cover your job;
sorry about that.
“Don’t let uncertainty (or fear of death)
dull your passion
for the work.
“We so appreciate
everything
you do.
“Don’t worry, just relax;
what doesn’t kill you
makes you stronger.”
.
(This is a triversen poem. Each stanza is three lines that make a complete sentence)
I am zipped up in Daddy’s green sweater.
Mom knitted, purled, cabled together
some semblance of love.
He wore it with joy almost every day,
telling all admirers how it was made with love.
It’s wrapped around me,
but it’s not his firm arms,
not his smell (which wasn’t peppermint
or aftershave, but just him),
not his whisper in my ears,
Love you so much.
How can another year have past
without him? How can a sweater
be both so full
and so bereft of him?
In an alternate Earth
injustices do not exist.
The universe feeds liars
to tyrannosauri rex,
which devour slowly
or quickly as befits.
Beyond us
the world has gone
swallowed in grey
a haze that glows orange
at night, around the edges that once
were mountains.
We cannot breathe.
Beyond us
the world has gone.
.
.
.
.
Purpleair.com reports our air quality has improved today. We’re down to 389 from 450s (out of 500) earlier in the week. Still “extremely hazardous.” Wildfires are most unpleasant, particularly where valleys converge and smoke from several fires gathers. The smoke is visible in the street and yards. 254 active fires in our province, over 40% of them out of control. 4 large fires in our local region. Thousands of people evacuated or on alert. Hoping for a weekend of lightning-less rain to wash the sky and allow for deep breaths again! Our lovely 30 degree Celsius summer is wasted when one can’t be outside.
In the porch light
ash is illuminated
specks of falling sky
pieces of evergreen needles
drop onto my arm
leave lines of black.
It hurts to breathe this grey air;
forests blazing hurt the heart.
Pray for rain, or better, snow.
(because, you know, snow
doesn’t bring lightning
or more fire).
the internet shows
there is rain elsewhere;
people celebrating
with summer fun.
it is not armaggedon
outside their windows;
no red sun an eery ball
in a tawny coloured sky,
no ashen needles settle
on sunflower leaves.
where they are
no threatening glow over the hill
disturbs their hope of sleep
while smoke kisses the suitcases
and bags stacked at the door,
for when the word comes.
.
.
.
Forest fire season in BC! In the last 5 years the summers have been getting consistently scarier. 4 of the 5 were horrible smokey years. While we’ve always had fires in the summer, generally it was rare to have one near communities and one bad fire summer would be followed by many fine years. I don’t remember my childhood in the Okanagan filled with smoke. But now it is the norm. Climate change sucks. A fire that started with a car accident about 38 hours ago is now a raging 800 hectare (~2000 blaze) only 25 km away from us. Very, very, very scary). Our bags are packed and we’re ready to load up if we are put on alert.
While you are shouting you’re right.
Check
who else is.
There’s always
more to
know.
I’m a good person!
I don’t cheat
(well, except that test,
but it was an important one, I couldn’t afford to fail!
Oh, and with that girl at the bar that one time when
the wife was out of town, but that was her fault)
I don’t lie
(well, except to my mom, she couldn’t handle knowing
and would raise a fuss).
I don’t steal
(Hey, those pirate book and video sites aren’t stealing,
those folks don’t deserve to be paid for their work!)
I don’t drink too much
(that time doesn’t count, we were celebrating!)
I’m not violent
(you can’t say she didn’t deserve that black eye).
I’m a good person.
I’m just like you, right?
What does ‘good’ mean, anyway?
she left the window open
woke to ash on the couch
mountains are obscured
noon light is yellow
armageddon glow
our expressions of worry
furrowed brows
above our masks
(N95 now)
don’t ask about our stress levels
as we check the lightning tracker,
the live stream wildfire map.
After the pandemic
seems we don’t yet have the knack
of acceptance; get the bag
ready to go,
make sure we know where
to rendez-vous, pretend
all this is normal.
What more can we do?
Bless the fire fighters
as the map clicks to fire number
one thousand one hundred thirty two.
Just wisps of clouds dot the periwinkle sky
Faint breeze dancing among the leaves
Grads gathering, twelve at a time.
Four guests only. Strictly enforced by the
Ministry of Health. Bring five. Grad ends.
The tents in case of rain
Lake and hills in view.
Pandemic grads to walk across the grass
This graduation has so many things new
but something old:
Hand-shake in gown and cap.
Farewell, all our best wishes go with you.
Shawn L. Bird 