Wildfire smoke, heat dome, heat wave, pandemic, Delta,
Omicron, two years of disaster we survived, at least for now.
Exaggeration, but not. So convenient to have N95s hanging
around. Dogs breathing in what I don’t, tender paws on 8 pm
sidewalks, still hot to the touch. Later, south sides of Douglas Fir,
rhododendron, huckleberry scorched, brown, brittle, swaths of burn
from coast to mountain. Grass a haze of white. Poor souls sweat
to literal death. The sky is dark. Things worse indoors, stuffy rooms
instant hazmat situations. Nothing inoculates us against idiocy. We hide
from spiraling heat in air-conditioned homes, causing more heat. But wait,
outside, it’s finally raining. Canada geese that no longer migrate V wide
overhead. In the marshes, Sand Hill cranes glean dragonflies and water
striders. Bald eagles, osprey, redtail hawks perch on willow branches,
calling. Painted turtles hunker on slippery logs. In the distance,
a triumvirate of volcanos: Saint Helens, Adams, Hood, all waiting
for the final conflagration. Give them a chance. They’ll blow.
Recently retired, she taught composition, literature, and creative writing at Diablo Valley College in Pleasant Hill, California for thirty-two years and continues to teach novel writing online for UCLA Extension and in the online MFA program for Southern New Hampshire University.
She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband. Jessica's website is www.jessicabarksdaleinclan.com
- Disaster Poem - December 7, 2022