poetry

Grey Silence Descends

Grey Silence Descends

it was as if the blaze consumed
all the color in the landscape
where there had been the jolt of flowers
or the questionable taste of bright paint
now there is a nearly uniform grey
the quiet whispered shade of ash and charcoal
the palette of Schindler’s List
what’s left is: concrete slabs and twisted steel
detritus the shade of clouds heavy with rain
or month-old snow
and all this must be lifted from the earth shovel by shovel
or one patient backhoe scoop at a time
before any new brightness
might take hold

poetry

it gets worse / better

Photo of Val Szarek's excerpt of Amanda Gorman's "The Hill We Climb."

it gets worse / better

Inspired by a prompt from Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer’s Loving the Self: A Poetry Playshop.

gazing into the fire
asking what do you have to teach me today?

all I hear is
the old toddler parenting mantra

it gets worse
before it gets better

friends
it could always get worse
but what if we willed ourselves to believe
today we’re one day closer to better?

poetry

Harper Lake Hope

Harper Lake Hope

sometimes good news comes to greet you
when you hadn’t thought of looking it up for weeks really
hadn’t tried to imagine what it’s been up to
who it’s hanging out with
where it’s living these days

but there it is, right in your path
ready to clap you on the shoulder:
the big cottonwood still stands
its branches filled with stars
its every fiber a witness to these parched days

the flames didn’t even dare to lick its roots
and its whole patch of grass is still a dull January green
not black
and yes, its branches are covered with fat, conical buds

it’s going to keep spreading shade for all of us
drinking in what we belch out
and sending papery hearts out on the wind next fall

even when everything ceases to work
the way you thought it always would
sometimes a small miracle occurs
and wood makes sugar out of sun
and fresh air from our exhausted sighs
and filters glare to green
and we find we’ll still have a place to rest
where wind may slow to a whisper

poetry

aerial view

Photo courtesy of The Colorado Sun

aerial view

the subdivision’s smile
is now pitted
with yawning cavities
each an uprooted family

the open wounds
are ready for rot

what could we plant
in each smoking crater?
whose roots might fill
these aching holes?

my hand restlessly sifts ash
searching for seed