A 30-foot mushroom-shaped column of smoke
towered in a blue sky while I climbed
and sunbathed on rocks in Yosemite, slim waterfalls
glinting down the cliffs—on my honeymoon.
We knew fire was taking acres of Wowana, but scale
made this a Park Announcement myth
(but for that hulk of smoke and the boas
of snarling orange glimpsed on either side
of the highway in the pre-dawn
as we evacuated, hugging each other,
tasting strangeness and comfort).
by Naomi Thiers

Naomi Thiers lives in Virginia and misses the scale and drama of the west. She has published poetry in many journals. A national park really did catch on fire on her honeymoon.
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