It’s burning in Southern California and I’m hungover in a library

It was a day without
rain, though it had been forecast.
It was golf pencil blues,
checked in on the cardboard sheet,
in attendance the last hero on this good green earth.
It was a marble nose crumbling on a marbled page.
It was hot.
So hot.
It was pink pepto tossed with pesto.
It was a dry lipped
time, sultry and so warm.
A lost pen and a crumbs-at-the-bottom tote.
It was a thick air’d lass
with tendrils of bad black wind.
It was burning in the hills
and we know it wasn’t just the dry leaves.
It was full, without space to charge a broken laptop.
So we tried to go home
but it was too far away
to come back now.
It was dying and we knew it.
It was a bald lie and a day without rain.

 

Oona Holahan is from Los Angeles California. She loves avocados and never learned how to parallel park, so she fits right in! Shoot her an email at oona.holahan@yale.edu.

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