Andrea Eldridge
Visibility
fire season— through smoke layers upside down sunrise
It’s snowing ash. Fire under the clouds.
Smoke. Haze. I can’t breathe. I can’t see.
I can’t go outside. Not even the dog. The
heat. House on fire. Neighborhoods burn.
Pyrocumulus. Firestorm. Its own weather.
Fire tornado. The heat swirling. Black. Gray.
Red flame retardant. Shades of burnt orange.
Smoke. Smoke jumpers. How do they see?
Super scoopers. Fire bombers. Firefighter.
Wildfire. Wildlife. Running wild. Under the
clouds of ash. I don’t want to see. The scar.
Sifting through ash. What do you value? Air.
About the Author
Andrea Eldridge is a pilot for American Airlines. When not flying, she can be found adventuring in Idaho with her furry rockhound, Lincoln. She currently resides in Southern California, completed her MFA in creative writing, and was nominated for a 2021 Pushcart Prize for her haibun “Unexpected,” published in Modern Haiku.
Pyrocumulus – quite a word! The use of poetic form after the ku stands out in your work. Suffocation is transmitted. The haibun creates restlessness. It succeeds.
Thank you, Tapan, I appreciate your thoughtful response.
Love your style on this one. The short, clipped sentences add to the urgency and despair. Well done.
Thank you so much, Terri. I enjoy following and have been encouraged by your work.
I agree. The terse sentences are grand indeed.
/ It’s own weather. /
Your voice, as well.
Thanks!
Donna Fleischer
Oh I appreciate that, Donna!
Andrea,
You continue to amaze me with your writing talents, your way with words.
All that to go with your many other talents – artistic, photographic, aviation related – to name a few.
So glad to have you as a friend@
Lee
You’re the best, Lee!