Rivulets steam and stream
Salty, hot,
Under this thick non-woven
Breathing face mask,
Meant to keep out
A million miniscule molecules
Of ash, one remnant of
That rant of fire
That leapt the canyons and dry ridges,
In one pyrocumulus moment
Then consumed, decimated,
This now catastrophed neighborhood
Where children and dogs once played
And grey rabbits nibbled, hopping beside
Twin fawns at dawn.
We volunteers
Shovel debris,
Shovel residue,
Shovel cinders
Of unrecognizables,
Sifting stunned,
Sifting silently,
Sifting hoping
for
Mementos of memories.
We sweat
Inside these white disposable Tyvek suits,
Sifting rubble,
Looking for beauty
Among ashes.
Courageous homeowners stop by.
Amid rivulets of their own,
Springing up from raw places,
They weep hope, the largest remnant of
That rant of fire:
“We will rebuild.”
© Lane M. Arnold
Your poetry gives expression to things too deep for normal words. It gives glimpses of Hope’s resilience.
Anne, I tried writing a blog or personal essay about the fire, and about the experience…but like you said so well, poetry sometimes speaks best for things too deep for normal words. My email is lanemathisarnold@gmail.com. I ‘d love to hear about you and your coaching niche. Joyfully, Lane
Lane, I especially like these lines:
Sifting stunned,
Sifting silently,
Sifting hoping
for
Mementos of memories.
And this one: “They weep hope.”
Thank you, Kimberlee. The strength of the fire is nothing compared to the strength of hope in these homeowners who lost everything. They stun me with their resilience.
This is so powerful, and makes me think that we don’t really know what everything is until we lose what we thought it was… learning that it’s bigger than even that. Such a potent piece. Thank you.
I agree, Donna. Loss leads to depth. Working in the burn site was poignant and palatable with grace.