As I biked through Westwood in the morning

With the breeze full of ash gusting in my face

I reach the melancholy evacuation center

Which made a graveyard look cheerful

Many families’ and pets’ faces full of sorrow and loss

Of hopes, dreams, and life savings

Whether mansion, apartment, or shack

Still a loss of home

As reporters run repeatedly from person to person

Trying to score an interview

Their lifeless faces stay as still as
statues

And from the corner of my eyes

I spot one of my friends

Face buried in hands

I ride away

Thinking this time

That time would not heal all wounds