And Then it All Burned.

In October, 2017, wildfires ravages Northern California, destroying 8,400 structures, and leveling the homes of family, friends and neighbors. The material, spiritual and psychological impacts of those fires are still unfolding. This piece was written the week of the fires, as the magnitude of the damage became clear.'...And then it all burned.'She says over steaming musselsIn a candle and cloth hideawayon the rocky part of the California coasta confetti light grazing the inner rim of her eyelid,and her red-please-by-the-glass SangioveseShe moves gracefullyA streamlined gesture then a pauseLaying the linen in her lapLifting an inquiring eyebrowOffering me water firstbefore refilling her ownThere’s a small scar on her neckjust above the collarboneAnd laugh lines where her lip color has bled a littleHer thick white cotton shirt is open to the third buttonRevealing a plum-sized amulet of tiger’s eye and gold....And then it all burned.I didn’t know what to take.My grandmother’s painting.A box of papers, old pictures.Warm clothes, a tent, blankets.Stuff for the dog.For a single moment it's that night againWhen the fires ravaged us block by blockWinds whipping the chaparralOur neighbors died in their poolThe old growth timbers fell onto themhuddling together in the dawning lightThe flames ate the weaving, the painting,the carving, the writing, the plantingthe art that was the old lifeConsumed the places we danced, fought, lovedRendered my child homelessRemade us each foreverAnd so it goes, alwaysthe encapsulation of infinite moments and many yearsinto a single diminishing phraseI made this bookI earned a PhDMy wife had cancerI took a company publicI raised four childrenI loved him like thatYou don’t have to tell me what happened exactlyA cloud of your own silent song surrounds youYou're garlanded with a compassion common to those who have lostBadged with an indifference to possessingThe poem of your life is tattooed on your foreheadYour eyes tell me that you have looked at another with loveYour hips say that you have dancedI have decided already, if you will have methat I could wake up with youfor the next ten thousand morningsWe take anise cookies in brown paperand walk to the end of the dockIt is high-tide and we drape our feet into the cold watersAwakening the bioluminescent swarmThe whole world sparkles nowI thank the unknown things that have happenedand made you into thiswoman with the strong back and gentle eyesWho has laid her head onto my shoulderPulled the fleece around us both,Who holds her gaze wide opento face the winter seaChristine Marie Mason is an American author and poet. Her work includes Indivisible (2016), Love in the Face of Everything (2017), and the upcoming Bending the Bow (2018). You can find out more about her at www.XtineM.com.