the places i come from : part iii
February 2, 2010
Has burned or shaken away. Forget mudslides. Which everyone pretends is an aberration, not a regular thing.
I remember kids taking pieces –– small pieces because it was rubble — of the roof away from a grammar school I attended. The whole administration building went down during a quake so rubble was all that was left. That was a four story building too, solid, tall –– before we picked up souvenir rubble.
I remember lying with my pillow on the windowsill watching fires coming over a mountain. One of many mountains — all burning. Mountains and mountains in the night’s dark, crawling in miles of fire.
I remember passing where I once lived. It had been a big elegant Victorian house. That place is now a parking lot. I guess after a house that big gets knocked down, everyone is too tired to put something back up.
This place I live, this place I was born, it is always burning, always shaking, always sliding, away.