Bonfire Opera by Danusha Laméris

The first time I read Bonfire Opera by Danusha Laméris, my house was, for the first time in months, blissfully silent. My husband had taken the children on a bike ride, to donuts. It was not yet 8 am and the dog, cat, and I sat on the couch and I read the book cover to cover, pausing only 3 times. Twice to cry, once to refill my coffee. My pets were audience to the lines I couldn’t help but read aloud. The sunlight and the silence and the animals nearby created a perfect atmosphere for reading these poems (the only detractor was a distant weed-whacker, and even that brought contrast to the poems).

When I decided to read it again, I knew I needed to make it another beautiful moment. Aside from finding myself valuing these moments during a pandemic and worldwide pain, this is a book that deserves intention in its reading—though I believe that about most books. It doesn’t need intention or a beautiful moment (it would be incredible even read in a dirty bathroom stall at the world’s worse airport), but it deserves the reader’s intention, slowness, focus. I read this book for a second time on a 107 degree day, bright California light casting across my kitchen table, a cold cider at hand, a bowl of passion fruit picked from the vine outback nearby, watching my own garden wither in the heat while reading of Danusha’s lush garden, loss, grief, desire, and that bigheartedness that great poets bring to the page, to their readers, to the world. These are poems not just about seeing the world beautifully, but living beautifully in the world.

Below are two poems which stuck with me after both readings. Though, if I am being honest, this whole book is with me lately. Read it for yourself, let me know what you think.