A Grand Illusion

everything is a grand illusion:
the sunset, clouds,
the night’s long-dead stars,

the way you smiled at me.

how the trees touch the sky
and my breathing
— in, out, in, out.

metronomic existence
timed to expire
when the game is done.

trick of the eye, this life…
like your love
bad roll of the dice
random happenstance
slick hands you had
and
words as concrete
as the tide,

that always detracts more than adds
when it pulls away,
subsides.

leaving worn rocks…
deceptive in their strength
erodible in time, like

the strongest hearts.

if we close our eyes,
does nothing exist?

when we open them
what
can we trust?

~ Emily C.

8.14.17

Crisp

I had forgotten how the rain sounds

when it falls on leaves, stiffened

in windless weeks, smoked

to a crisp. Portentous orangeness

clung like viscous ghost, hanging

‘round horizon; in heavy robe, haunting

us. Goading us. With every growing sun

light darkened in a lifeless sky. We

breathed in short breaths, lungs coated

with grime. Time slowed, each second

choked. No where to hide, we froze.

And burned.

Waiting…

It broke. And blue view spoke,

‘tween clouds pockmarking heavens

we forgot existed. Oasis of air,

freed by westerlies — onshore breeze,

blew life into our lungs

once again. Wet. Clean. Free.

 

~ Emily C.

 

8.13.17

Another Red Sun

another red sun
another night sky
another day gone by

without you

another gasp for clean air
another grasp for you here
another pass at a chance

with you

another tomorrow became today
another scream inside my head
another mistake made

beside you

another wish dies on wind
another kiss left hanging
another you left me

bleeding heavy

another us never happens
another we is in the past
another time sought fleeing

memories

 

~ Emily C.

8.6.17

Free Me ~ Haiku


 

Choking hazy smoke

Another red sun looming

Free me on sailed sea

 

~ Emily C.

7.6.17

 

***

Day 6:  Smoke is still here. I can smell it in the house when I opened the bedroom door this morning to the hall where it’s an obvious contrast. But, then sitting in the house, one acclimates to it.

I have been running HEPA air purifiers with brand new filters round the clock, and have only opened the doors briefly in morning or night to let the cool air in for a bit. And even THAT has been enough to make it smell smokey in here. Check out my filter picture, the one on the left was new on Thursday. The one on the right is unused. Look at all that dirt caught in only 3 days. Crazy! Glad its in there and not my lungs, but I do feel it a bit anyway.

The first two pics are from Sigma Shreedharan again. Yucky air makes for great art!

The third pic is mine off my back deck at sunset. We are still dealing with heat, but it’s only in the high 80s instead of high 90s now. After the 4 feet of rain we had this winter, I didn’t think I’d be desperate for a raincloud, but here we are. 🙂

Side note: my Mac’s trackpad has been causing issues and making my cursor go berserk in a scary way. So, I haven’t been able to use it and all my poetry bookmarks are on that one. I will be delayed even more in catching up on your awesome words. But, in time will be trying my best to catch up.

Also back to my vestibular therapist tomorrow. Still working my way through that, but definitely not as acute as I was. The new exercises have been a challenge for my brain on top of the environmental triggers lately with the heat and smoke. Looking forward to clean air and improved health.

Miss you all and thank you for your steadfast support.

 

Wildfire Moon

Wildfire moon, orange in night sky
witness to the burn, reflector of fire

night is a hot oven, skin melts puddles
not a fresh breath, nor window open

smoke on tongues, 
numb tingles ripple
lethargy death grip, otherworldly rogue


escape, no option, water, only hope
bunker in basement, hiding to cope


horizon designed, devoid of detail
mountains hide, water invisible

red sun sets, ruby in dead sky
hell on earth, no end in sight


~ Emily C.

8.3.17

***

Things are not good in Seattle and Vancouver and much of the northwest. Hundreds of wildfires in British Columbia have been sending smoke all over including smothering Seattle. We are also having a heat wave in the 90s to near 100 this week with no signs of letting up this coming week. This is day 3 of suffocating haze and smoke smell. It looks like a foggy Christmas Eve around here. Can’t see the city skyline, the mountains have disappeared and the streetlights look out of a dark London alley. We do not have clouds so everything in these pics are smoke. Can’t open windows because of the unhealthy air quality which means the house is ridiculously hot and muggy. Some respite in basement but it’s got moldy smell like basements do…so the choices aren’t pleasant either way. Hoping al are safe in BC. Sounds like at least a few fires have been determined arson. Terrible. The sun has been otherworldly in its redness, and he moon in its orangeness…makes for eerie pictures.

Not looking forward to the next several days.

(All pictures are mine except the red sun and ferry picture by Sigma Shreedharan.)

The haze around the Space Needle is smoke, with orange moon above


Red sun through the trees

(There is supposed to be an ocean and a huge mountain range there…)

The Watchers

Russian, on the trails.
In the fields, Spanish
To my right. German
To my left. Somewhere
Else, unintelligible due
To distance and the wind
Distorting vowels
And consonants into rolling
Rumbles. My ears
Receive it all, like
Symphonic speech,
Punctuated
By

A baby’s wail,

The Universal language
Of all humanity.
An immigrant carries
A backpack cooler
To a family picnic,
It is covered in
Stars and Stripes.

None of us are American.

The train carrying mysteries
To the Canadian border,
Rumbles under the pedestrian
Bridge. It blows its horn
Like a wave hello
To the watchers. They stand
Peering through the chain link
Holes, like fish coming up
For air, lips pushing through
Fence, eyes keenly zeroing.
The rush.
Then gone.
Back to beach. To rocks.
To shells buried, cracked,
Dead, still alive.
Mountains watch us,
Their peaks sentries. Guarded.
Guarding the open sea, a
Partition between our hearts
And the vastness they know
Our limited consciousness
May not be able to see.
See but not see.
None of us are what
The other believes.

We are each other.
English now. Italian.

Human.

Emily C.

7.30.17

Tears of Thorns

tears of thorns fell from eyes
— a cry for all that left her —
a saline sigh 
for souls gone by

a wail for those departed.

a guttural scream,
for the nothing in the wake
of their wakes —

as hard as it needed to be
as long as it took to heal
goddammit

don’t lend your hand
unless you don’t mind

getting wet
or punctured
by the dripping pain

lend me your silence

…and…
(…and until…)
I breathe again

my heart on offer
for a limited time
to a worthy bidder
capable of navigating
these

tears flowing from ravine eyes
that carried curdling current
far from its nascent origin
to burgeoning
bursting
walls
of loss

 

~ Emily C.

7.22.17