print previewback LEAH TIEGER
Where Your Sister Danced in Other Years We Flee and Shelter
the power went out
it came back on
and the air did not shimmer with panic
at first
we thought it was fireworks in the parking lot
a flare aimed into night
and not into bodies
we saw a fire openthe sky filled with grass and screaming
the smoke a grenade in our lungs
we saw the line of scorchinghow it came
out of nowhere
the power returned and died again
like a slumber party
there was ice cream
and helicopters
we played pianowe were either
safe or trapped
some of us hid in the attic
we prayedwe waited
for the end of a fireone of us never returned to
it didn’t seem realwhen they said we could leave
we asked are you sure are you sure
the ground went on sparking around us
our parents were desperateto learn we were breathing
I love you that was the last thing we
didn’t think this could happen here
inside a grip of smoke
it disappeared
we could not see the ocean 
Drawn from eyewitness accounts of Pepperdine University’s shelter-in-place policy and the Borderline Bar
& Grill shooting—events overlapping between both communities within the span of twenty-four hours.
Packing the Car
Where Your Sister Danced in Other Years We Flee and Shelter