On the first anniversary of the fire that destroyed the iconic Bidwell Mansion, we’re posting a poem written and contributed by local poet Danielle Alexich.
Sleep-drunk, we hear sirens from bed
and at dawn check our phones.
I stride the neighborhood avenue
to find Bidwell Mansion,
Victorian landmark,
yesterday pink,
now charred and smoldering,
grieving itself,
collapsed into a Dalian dream.
Light seeps through majestic trees.
Locals line the sidewalk.
Girl Scout alumni who toured
ornate, eerie rooms
with a blind and brilliant docent.
Old-timers holding hands.
Unwitting parents whose kids
cut class to smoke weed on the veranda.
Amid the rubble, steps survive,
once slick from generations
of events, spontaneous picnics,
first kisses, erased footprints
of those who were conquered.
