Santiago
The Santa Ana winds make radio commercials
transparent as the fires pour like silk over the hills
It’s not safe to build houses in the dry country
when the salespeople are made of wind
and the inside of their mouths blow sound
through the helicopter turbulence
Can’t stay here, it’s all going up,
and who started this God or man or
nature? Nothing will stop it, the water
turns to steam before it hits the flames
and all the people talking to make it stop
or praying or spitting on the ground
Nothing can sell this now, this California,
where everything is in its place, even in the fire:
the money and the sprinklers on the black lawn Just hope that all of us can get out before
the smoke turns us speechless, before
all the others already begin to forget
we live in the physical world. The gas station
just blew up, the one we needed to get out of here
But the sun sets beautifully into the bright
cinders and the fences are coming down
We expect to be brought up to the light
when the fire burns through our sentences
We expect to be cared for and not have to move
when our bodies are gone.
listen
blinds are drawn
but the sun interjects
and the wind coughs
she sleeps, and for good reason
the demands of the dialect are exhausting
and medical school is harder than memorizing
how to react to the news, the way we are
supposed to forget when we are lied to
slowly and over time
the defenses get slower
and resin sets up in our teeth
don’t read this before it is done
don’t pretend to know what is next
when faking it
the lighting should be more flattering
on the misnomers
when talking
the way to cheat
is by snoring on the minutia
but reporting this could cause an infection
remember to flush fluids twice daily through the books
the winds will sigh when the money exits
to really hear it
light small arteries from inside the clock
tumble in the batteries
breathe without moving
please listen
corneal removal is the best way to see the damage
and pretending not to hear
is the best medicine
but sleeping, my love,
is better still
