By: Marina Flores
It wasn’t that the air was thick
Or how I could feel it filling my lungs
It was the smell
Then the light in the middle of the
night, it was bright
And I looked to my mountains
So bright
Full of flame
And it was beautiful
Why did it have to be beautiful?
This terror
Scorched earth
Ash raining from the sky like snowflakes
I could feel the poison in my lungs
My throat raw
My hands full of tiny cuts
My abuelita crying
The flames licking the sky
And it was beautiful
