Tag: Marshall Fire

poetry

unbalanced on the equinox

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unbalanced on the equinox

the black campground studded by flames
like my inner landscape
raging from the unkindness one son inflicts on the other
and my inability to create peace
in our little truck
in our extended family
in our town

no it seems we all want to tear each other apart
enjoy that crestfallen look on the other’s face
when we betray them with disdain
just like me
unable to see the 21-month-old I made cry to sleep
his bucket never able to be filled since
the payoff of sleep so not worth the damage done
sleep I reject every night now anyway
I’ve no idea how to make it better
only know to limit the pain I myself inflict

unbalanced today
I lashed out and liked it
calling him out on his selfishness
not caring that each word I spat would undoubtedly
have the opposite effect
driving stake after stake between us
with each word I said

there is a dark energy
in our world of Schaafs
we take
and there’s never enough
how can I keep this from going out in the world
how can I possibly shift it
we keep repeating the mistakes of the past
our humanity diminished each go around

the Dalai Lama says
be kind whenever possible
it is always possible
but I don’t know how to respond kindly to unkindness
in a way that won’t lead to more

I don’t know how to read two books at once
sometimes I doubt I have enough love to give
sometimes the relief of peace seems as elusive
as drinking from the shimmer
of the highway’s mirage

poetry

first night of spring break

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first night of spring break

in March it’s been so long
we’ve lost our camping groove:
how to start the fire
how to wash the dishes
were to keep the headlamps
what to wear when

but we know it will be worth it
our bodies soaking up woodsmoke
and an intensity of stars
lying down on the land
listening to cranes

poetry

fleeing on foot

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Photo by Helen H. Richardson, The Denver Post

fleeing on foot

what still haunts Grace
is the families fleeing on foot
holding hands

the little children with their flimsy school backpacks
meant for holding little more than a snack
now carrying all that they might come out with

and more than that –
driving past them without stopping –
having no room, no seats

being one more in the long line of cars
passing up those without

poetry

Offering to the Air

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Offering to the Air

all day Irish trad followed me
each time I started the car
Spotify announced the day
and who I am
and what it means

but when Willie Clancy played
Air: An Páistín Fionn
I recognized myself:
ashes, flame, keening, awe
and, sometimes, harmony

I think how Alex would say
play this at my funeral
but that’ll be too late –

play it today
and I won’t need to make
another pen stroke tonight

poetry

burning bridges

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burning bridges

you’d never give up on anyone
she says
and she’s right –
why would I?

we talk an hour
and the only useful thing I say
is her lucky number

but it’s enough
it adds up to family
as meager as it’s always been
as hungry as it’s always left me

poetry

the next true thing

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the next true thing*

I could do this all day
Paloma says

meaning write a silly story

and I’m so glad I live
however briefly
in a world where that’s true

*title from writing advice by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

poetry

migrating snow geese

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migrating snow geese

some days joy hides
easy to forget the contours of its cheek
or the scent of its shirt in the closet

some days awe is a memory
stored under basement boxes
at risk of disappearing into a cobwebbed corner

but today
the snow geese stream by
loose white black-studded Vs against
clear blue sky

and we gasp over and over
at the spectacle of black/white/blue
at the never-endingness of the drifts of white
coming in on the wind

it’s an unfamiliar abundance
that we in this time of diminishment
imperilment risk extinction decline
fragmentation extirpation catastrophe
have little acquaintance with

and the rush of wings and bodies and joy
all these beings requiring essentially nothing of us
no intervention no advocacy no sacrifice
is so welcome we blink back tears

my son says if the sky had a necklace
it would be made of snow geese

we sit in wonder
not just listening to their cacophony
but feeling it inside our skins
the collective vibration of their thousands
of hearts and synapses
the air itself trembling
at holding such tenderness

poetry

one more small loss in the immense field of losses

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one more small loss in the immense field of losses

the orange koi survived the embers
weathered the flames
withstood the ash

through it all they swam circles
in the little stone pond

but the day came when the bulldozer
rumbled and scraped and wrought
smooth dirt where their little depression had been

some things are not survivable
not all allegories have happy ends

now this earth bears
their quiet little bodies, too

poetry

what’s missing

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what’s missing

I can see the wind waving the trees
but can’t hear it

the cabin walls tight
though not warm –

we need the crackle
of fire

poetry, Uncategorized

who’s to blame

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who’s to blame

it’s disturbing
but for now they’re right

on some of the plots where people chose
to opt out of the county’s help
the earth hasn’t yet been mulched,
still ready for the wind to carry contaminated cinders
to the edge of town and beyond.
(shake your head here)

but on other opt-out-plots it turns out
everything has already been smoothed away –
twisted metal unscrewed from earth
ashes carried away by truck not air –
and they’re ahead of the county-trusting curve now

you know, they called it:
interference, delay, graft –
just as they suspected
but not who:
it’s business (as usual) not government
trying to squeeze more money from tragedy
carving another scar before the land can heal