by Andrena Zawinski
The smell of ash wakes me in my bed, burning
my nostrils and throat, midnight, as I dream
of water webbed lashes and a cool, damp face.
Diablo winds sling fiery plumes all night across
grapevines, redwoods, schoolhouses, ranches,
livestock and wildlife left behind, everything
trying to catch its breath.
In the gloom of gray hours before down, I write
these words without paper or pen a half wake state,
while winds whistle and howl across the dock,
through trees, into my open window and this poem
stumbling ahead
as this dawn struggles for breath
tears blurring the eyes.
Andrena Zawinski’s poetry has received accolades for lyricism, form, spirituality, and social concern. Her latest book is Landings; others are Something About (a PEN Oakland Award) and Traveling in Reflected Light (a Kenneth Patchen Prize). She founded and runs the San Francisco Bay Area Women’s Poetry Salon and is Features Editor at PoetryMagazine.com. Her poem, “Twilit Sonnet” appeared previously in TheNewVerse.News.