My Eyes Have Seen the Grapes of Wrath

I remember when the house caught fire
two blocks down. We were driving home from dinner—
early evening—
saw a huge plume of black smoke on our street.
Our street. Our neighbors.

Oh, my eyes. So tired of smoke,
tear gas, infection rates, death rates. Every kind of bad news.
My eyes cannot wash themselves
clean enough. Are my hands clean enough?
Every evening

the planet spins toward catastrophe. We’re not
just passengers. My eyes
have ignored so much. My eyes are not clean.
I remember the East Wind filling the city with smoke.
I remember the house that caught fire on my street.

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