Fires Burn in Paradise
The San Francisco morning sky
is dirty dish-water,
texture of floating flour dust,
smell of burning electrical wires.
At our coast, silver mist and fog
flows, ebbs, streams.
This matte beige air is thick
unmoving, silent.
Code Red Air Quality looks like this.
Up north, firefighters and neighbors battle, flee.
I sip my lapsang souchong tea,
now disturbed by its smoky taste.
Published in The Weekly Avocet #314, December, 2018
Heather Saunders Estes 