by Julie Rogers

The sun, a coin flipping
deep in a pocket of heat
that won’t give. Newscast:
governor’s gruff voice
rations water, Sierra snowpack
dryer than a century
green hills starved in torch yellow
burnt hell in the woods
empty lakes, asphalt melts
as we slowly wash the dishes
and tend to ourselves
turn off the faucet
trying to figure
when it’s important.
How clean and fresh
is life ? Do I look right ?
Can I see myself ?