"Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy"

This morning, at 5:00, I went for my usual walk. With the heat wave that's been in Arizona the past few days, you go early or you don't go at all. On the way back, around 6:30, I saw some firefighters headed out of town. The insignia on the side of the vehicles read "Granite Mountain Hot Shots." They were going out of Prescott on Iron Springs Road, headed south.

Tonight, while surfing the net and perusing my Twitter feed, I noticed a hashtag reading #yarnellfire. I'd heard nothing about a fire in Yarnell (about 35 miles south of where I live) so I clicked on to find out what was happening. Within minutes this horrible news flashed on the screen.

19 die in Yarnell fire

Most likely, these were the same people I saw driving out of town this morning. They were profiled in the local paper just this last week.



Tears. Tears.

"I knew what life was for in Boston"

For several years now I've subscribed to the Tumblr "April Is: A Poem a Day for National Poetry Month." Today's poem is a lovely, sad, bittersweet missive from Anne Sexton.


Just Once
Anne Sexton

Just once I knew what life was for.
In Boston, quite suddenly, I understood;
walked there along the Charles River,
watched the lights copying themselves,
all neoned and strobe-hearted, opening
their mouths as wide as opera singers;
counted the stars, my little campaigners,
my scar daisies, and knew that I walked my love
on the night green side of it and cried
my heart to the eastbound cars and cried
my heart to the westbound cars and took
my truth across a small humped bridge
and hurried my truth, the charm of it, home
and hoarded these constants into morning
only to find them gone.

There isn't much more to say.