It’s Just Us Down Here
And we each hold each other’s lives in our hands
After the fire comes the smoke.
It blew into Albuquerque last Tuesday on, oddly, a cold front. I’d seen the photos of orange skies raining ash and heat a thousand miles west of us, so I guess that’s what I expected: winds that burn. Instead they were frigid. They chilled us and pricked goosebumps from our skin.