Conflagration

 

Conflagration

It rained yesterday. Strange.

I thought it would clean the air

but it smells more like ash than it did

before.

No scorched earth, I begged. Let’s

do this right. For once, do something right.

And so far, it’s worked. But

last night you showed your hand,

just a little. And I realized this

fragile peace hinges on my willingness to pay.

I slept uneasy. I’m so close. It’s

nearly done. Hang on. But when I

look out the window, I can’t

tell if it’s sunrise or fire

coming over the ridge

to light the way

or destroy us.

We’re officially a disaster.

Our home. This marriage.

And the world looks on

like rubbernecking drivers

on a crowded freeway.

They talk of mopping up the mess.

Starting fresh. But the air still smells

like smoke. Like a dragon sleeping

in its cave, waiting.

The rain doesn’t wash it all away.

Just brings it to the door.

November, 2007

29Joe Collins, Jessica Fleming Crawford and 27 others

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Inside Out

Outside

Doves the color of dust.
Dust scattered with seed.
Birds eat as though
nothing has changed.
Chatterings
continue unabated.


Inside

Movements have disturbed
old dust 

that settled, quiet

over time
on unmoving things until
we'd almost stopped seeing them.
Silence
after the roar.


Outside

In the aftermath I wait,
wincing at the insistent sun,
and fear the naked air.
Turn away, look back as
this rusted truck takes
roads long denied.
Dust lingers in its wake.

    ~ Elodie Pritchartt, 2007

Falling Leaves

Perhaps it would be better if I don’t speak.

Reflect the silence back into the water,

listen to the evening come to help the night begin its dark trip behind the  sun.

The winter apples turn.

Fall nudges summer gently to the side,

and the light burns amber, realigns itself

so shadows  lengthen early.

The pages of this book that will not

be lain aside rustle toward its solitary end.

The dead revisit, though they are far away.

Anticipation turns to fear

that winter will not forgive.

Silence becomes prayer.

Breathe the honeyed quiet,

and brace yourself for the tilting

of the world.

Waiting for Gustav

Saturday morning  1 and the sky  2 is gentle blue  3 Has it been  4 only three years  5 since I watched  6 a mother  7 find  8 her dead son's  9 marine uniform  10 in the ruins  11 of her home?  12 soiled in ways  13 that will never  14 wash out.  15 The detritus  16 of a nation's  17 failure rubbed  18 into the fabric  19 of the world  20 Politicians smile,  21 announce the coming  22 victory  23 raise joined hands  24 in triumph  25 speak about a bright  26 and shining future  27 They do not see  28 the haunted eyes  29 of frightened souls  30 fleeing from the coast  31 and the sky  32 such a gentle blue  33 today.  34

30 Aug 08