fire season

I got diamonds on my fingers
but no place to go
except the ghost towns in springtime
where priests burn sage from holy balconies
where choirs sing &
sun scatters colors on the congregation
smoky orange & blazing red
while outside fires consume California

I got this bag on my back
that still holds something of you
worn leather of your thoughts
caramelized into sweet scent
I hold hostage behind sealed zipper
& I love to see the way land looks
with eastern sunlight shining from behind me
or seeing beams on hillside
but not seeing sun itself
until I round the corner
feel it full on my face
it forces me to notice all colors
not to close my eyes against it
& to see darkness differently
to feel change in the air
warm Santa Anas, morning fog, or Halloween chills
porque siente como el invierno en mi cuarto ya
y en mi cama
frio
oscuro
butter & clovers
sweaters & lovers
heat of fire on the hills
air whipped & chilled near the ocean

winter music plays
celebrates eastern morning rays
& evening stardust breezes
for you & me & everyone
for it all to snuggle in my hair
like smoke & sweat
to settle into my pillowcase
that I’ll send to you when we’re apart
so with every turn
you’ll remember the fire season

Lizzie Wann
1997

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2 Comments Add yours

  1. Mamacita says:

    Love your poems, you have a gift for writing

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