Cerro Glow

Before and After

by Gary Feuerman

Before the fire

there was a glow

from the silken sun

as I stood in water

dreaming of love

After

I looked west

and beat the rugs

like old enemies

breathing time

Wild Fire

by Johanna DeBiase

When the dogs start barking and the magpies make a nuisance with their clucking, I know the red fog is coming in. Out the western window, I see the smoke collide with thunder and hope the slate clouds win. But the wind is fast, wild and fierce – La Niña, a wrathful goddess. By the time I am done shampooing my dog who rolled in dung to cool off, the air is charred and stuffy. The animals are silenced and the sun is red. We hurry inside.

Yesterday, I rolled in mud at a spa due west, recessed in red canyon walls. The smoke appeared suddenly, with limited visibility and my throat became dry and scratchy. We raced home blasting the A/C, the smoke chasing us while we sped across the mesa. Plump gray and welcoming clouds hovered over town, our fortress of mountains, and as we entered Taos's perimeters, it began to rain. Oh, the cleansing scent of steaming hot tar and wet sand.

A sign of things to come, I hope, as the red plumes of smoke and toxins – the dust of old growth pines or the carcinogenic particles of plutonium – settle around us encased in closed summer houses.

Cerro

by Robin Powlesland

the fireworks display stands empty

and Jeff N. stalks Paseo

with his angry yet honest

yet certain words

today is the first day

I am truly weary of the smoke

and how insular it is to say that

how unfair

it all seems too big really

to know

and also still fairly far away

we dream about rain

flying bullets hit young men

in the face in Taos this weekend

and we watched each other

talk about our creative processes

as if they happen alone

I want to be around Flora

my friends’ three year old

red-headed whimsical daughter

because I do not understand

what her life will look like

it doesn’t look like this

I am bruised from last night’s dancing

and keep seeing a stranger’s dimples

but still New Mexico is burning

we are struggling to breathe

our way through this

Los Alamos on the hill

and we can’t look away

the fireworks stand displays empty

and I know now what the Mayor drinks

what we all drink

we are all always drinking

the future is paralyzing

and yet the events are stacking up

on facebook

as if everyone needs one more

party

as if the bacchanal rights

could fix everything that is going wrong

all over this earth

as if mother nature could be placated

by placating ourselves

as if we had another chance

or a chance at all

my flowers continue to bloom on my plants

and music comes from the plaza

it feels humid as the smoke condenses our moisture around us

I do not want to drink anymore or feel tired or overwhelmed

I want the future to open up like these red flowers in front of me

propel us into something more

but I am just small I am just insular

and the comets will come and the flame and the rain

the plutonium is inches from my face

a bullet in my throat