After the Fire
After the fire
Strange dark purple flowers
Came out of the cracks of the
blackened chaparral
In the hills beyond the house
The cattle heron shone
White against the burnt tree limbs
We sat on the bare ground
eating sandwiches
and the onigiri with plum
that you had made
laughing
we were drenched
in a quick spring rain
The moon hung low
visible though it was day
It may well be
That one day even this moon
Will be gone
And our sun a dead star
Will you forget me first?
I wouldn’t mind
Every year at this time lilies
bloom in the yard
planted by some unknown hand
years ago
Here I’ve brought you
bulbs for your birthday
A version of this poem initially appeared in the journal
After/Ashes A Camp Fire Anthology - Wordspring Press 2018
After the fire
Strange dark purple flowers
Came out of the cracks of the
blackened chaparral
In the hills beyond the house
The cattle heron shone
White against the burnt tree limbs
We sat on the bare ground
eating sandwiches
and the onigiri with plum
that you had made
laughing
we were drenched
in a quick spring rain
The moon hung low
visible though it was day
It may well be
That one day even this moon
Will be gone
And our sun a dead star
Will you forget me first?
I wouldn’t mind
Every year at this time lilies
bloom in the yard
planted by some unknown hand
years ago
Here I’ve brought you
bulbs for your birthday
A version of this poem initially appeared in the journal
After/Ashes A Camp Fire Anthology - Wordspring Press 2018