From the Sierra Nevadas

When I speak to you about today’s blur of news, I speak in the static of quivering aspen; the way

their roots intertwine across hillsides underground. I speak to you about rising death counts, rising infection rates

a race for a vaccine. I speak to you from the confines of my home where my family and I have sheltered seven weeks

and counting. I speak to you about the chorus of birdsong that rises at dawn to a deafening volume

as if the red throated hummingbirds, the black glistening crows sense and voice our fear and isolation.

Birds who just months ago were displaced by massive wildfires licking hillsides clean of their habitat and ours. I speak

of politicians who’ve powdered their faces and rehearsed their words. Of how the stories of their truth look like

backs of drive-in movie theater screens, shadows of character and plot. The sky is our witness. It looks down

at us hard and the reality of where and what we are presses up. Meanwhile, the variety of birds visiting my backyard thickens to include families of quail and giant winging blue herons.  

Meanwhile, the clock ticks towards our next disaster. Meanwhile, far off in the Sierras the aspen grip tighter to one another through their roots.

IRIS JAMAHL DUNKLE

Iris Jamahl Dunkle is an award-winning poet, literary biographer, and essayist. She has published four poetry books, including West: Fire: Archive (The Center for Literary Publishing, 2021) and the biography Charmian Kittredge London: Trailblazer, Author, Adventurer. Dunkle teaches at Napa Valley College and is Poetry Director at the Napa Valley Writers’ Conference.