Poem of the Week by Elizabeth Austen

House Fire

I reach for my yellow dress. It bursts
into flame. Anything I remember
burns again. Recipes from Nana's walnut box,
father's letters, every photograph: all
the same black exhalation-
the remains of everything consumed
coat the remains of everything spared.
Memories reduced to images without
objects to anchor them hover
in the space between this morning-
when each room stood intact-
and now, a time without geography.
Nothing ties me to the past.
No family portraits, no letters
urging goodness, steadiness, obedience.
All the old imperatives
curl in the lingering heat.


Elizabeth Austen is a Seattle-based poet, performer, and teacher. As part of the 2012 Get Lit! Festival, Austen will be one of the readers at the first ever Pie & Whiskey Reading at 9:30 p.m. at the Woman's Club on Thursday, 12. She will also be participating in the panel From Vinegar Bottles to Verse: Discovering Poetry in Overlooked Objects on Friday, April 13 at 12:30 p.m. at the SFCC Spartan Theater and later that night, she will be reading and discussing her work at the Poetry Salon at the Rocket Bakery. And aspiring performance poets, don't miss out on your chance to work directly with her during her Saturday workshop Beyond the Page: Poems Aloud, Poems Alive.