Tonight's Poet Corner: Sonnet Solstice #318
The Air Is Hard To Breathe
by Belinda Roddie
The air is hard to breathe, so I remain
within my office with the windows shut,
the sunset orange by the window pane,
subdued by haze, descending ash, and soot.
I read and write and still procrastinate
on grading stories that my students penned.
I keep on thinking that it's Saturday,
when, in truth, the week hasn't reached its end,
and schools are merely closed due to the flames
sending up toxic plumes we can't inhale
and blocking the view of the hills and bay
mere miles away from me. The air is stale,
but it will suit me fine within this space
I've built for myself in this safer place.
by Belinda Roddie
The air is hard to breathe, so I remain
within my office with the windows shut,
the sunset orange by the window pane,
subdued by haze, descending ash, and soot.
I read and write and still procrastinate
on grading stories that my students penned.
I keep on thinking that it's Saturday,
when, in truth, the week hasn't reached its end,
and schools are merely closed due to the flames
sending up toxic plumes we can't inhale
and blocking the view of the hills and bay
mere miles away from me. The air is stale,
but it will suit me fine within this space
I've built for myself in this safer place.
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