Tonight's Poet Corner: Monday In The North Bay

Monday In The North Bay
by Belinda Roddie

I remember the days when the world
wasn't literally on fire, and the grass rose
in hairy tufts without fear of angry embers
settling their twisted, aching bodies into
the creases of the earth's dry skin. There was
plenty of rain to soak up Mother's palate,
and if you were lucky, you got to drink the bay
breeze without ribbons of ash getting caught
in your mouth - a most unwelcome garnish
atop the natural cocktail you were served.

I thought about all the things I would throw
into my car if given the time, if given the moment,
just in case the embers decided to greet me at
my front door. Photos in frames and albums,
a cloudy chest filled with sentimental values
and past dreams. The books would stay.
Most of the clothes would, too. Elsewhere,
further north and west, the stranded didn't have
time to think about their options. All while
the vineyards and stores and houses burned down
and left people with nothing but smoke in their
bellies and hot tears on their jawlines.

Maybe it's always been like this. Scars always
can be covered in patches until the next time
black tattoos are scorched into non-consenting
flesh. A glass of champagne eases the mind
for only a bit, and then the anxiety resettles,
just like a stubborn flame fighting water - and it
burns almost as much as the actual inferno.