this month’s poem-a-month newsletter was a bit late due to technical difficulties, but has gone out now. have been thinking about the stories we tell ourselves in order to protect us from having to face tough realities, especially the realities of having intersecting types of privilege in america.
morning in america
& another layer of ash
has settled over the streets
whispering to us as dawn
claws her way up.
we nod awake, arms tired
from putting ourselves out front
our houses silent but the memory
of fire lingers in our lungs.
still the ash keeps falling,
lace-like on our eyelashes
crystals for us to brush—
we never care to learn
where the burning is from.