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looked cheery, but overnight a different careless driver screeched their brakes hard, jumped the curb and flatted some marigolds. Absolutely not having it, I headed to the big-box store at sun-up, buying iron fencing, a post-hole digger and cement for footings. A lot of work for a guy my age, but it restored my peace. The next afternoon I napped in my recliner, in the spot where the car had busted through the wall, free from fear of disaster. I started to love the house again, the way Jane always has. The holidays rolled around. I felt mostly recovered from my post-traumatic whatever condition. Then for once the whole family are together. The lamb chops are perfect. Jane’s telling the kids she’s opening a second office at the strip mall to cover listings outside town. That’s when we noticed. We live in a box canyon. One skinny road connects our development with everywhere else. That’s important information. My daughter-in-law was standing at the front window where I’d had to make myself stop standing, so she saw it first, a wall of destruction advancing up the road. She said, “Fire,” quietly, more flatly factual than sounding a warning. She knew as well as I did that there wasn’t anywhere we could move to out of the line of danger. After she said, Fire,” it hit. I don’t remember what happened. I’ve only been awake a minute. It’s confusing. I don’t know who found me, how I got here. I’m waiting to see how many of the others were saved, like I was. So far none, hoping for all of them. 188

Profile for Mojave River Media

Mojave River Review spring/summer 2019  

The Mojave River Review spring/summer 2019 issue spotlights superb poetry and prose by brilliant contributors from around the globe. Enjoy 2...

Mojave River Review spring/summer 2019  

The Mojave River Review spring/summer 2019 issue spotlights superb poetry and prose by brilliant contributors from around the globe. Enjoy 2...

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