“Bargaining with the Palisades Fire, I Buy a Pack of Edible Flowers,” by Anna Journey

If I eat every petal of chive blossomand hibiscus, marigold and rose, if I swalloweach dahlia and begonia whole, will youspare the Musch Trail in Topanga? I don’tknow what to do if it burns. If I makelike a wildfire and erase this palmful of lavender,will you leave my favorite meadow tasselledin white sage and black mustard? May I pleasekeep that shaded creekside nook I namedQuail Holler? Listen, the twisted manzanitasthat gnarl through the state park with theirwaxed auburn bark already recall fleshburned to the third degree. Right now,Chuck and Gail’s house still standswith its Spanish tile, twin writers’ sheds,and framed Sylvia Plath drawing, the flamesstopped by the choppers’ water bombshalf a block from their gate. I’ve stoppedphotographing the striped sunsets’ mineral bleedbecause I don’t even want to think the wordbeautiful when those black-and-fuchsia bandsdeepen their geodes only due to the smokeand debris. An ex-boyfriend once brought mea quartz-filled rock from a gem store in Richmondwhere he’d bought digital scales for the weedMindy drove down each month from Albany.The safety instructions said to breakopen the geodes using a clawhammerand tube sock. This way you’d containthe blast, the explosion’s shardswouldn’t fly, and you’d stillkeep both eyes to bear witness.