Afterfire

It's been a year since the wildfire:

begat from a hungry orange lick,

dancing on November deadgrass, eager to grow.

.

Flames reached high and burned down our apartment

and accidentally me along with it, a joyous roar,

flames consuming all that would feed them,

paper, love, flesh, a devouring blossoming.

.

You made me promises that night,

promises made in the fire's heart,

its wavering heart winking blue,

and I believed you,

and I believed the fire would burn forever.

.

Eternity seems plausible when you're aflame,

It seems likely the pain will never end.

.

Naturally it did.

This is the way.

.

How absurd that the numbness that balms the skin

Is a reprieve. How exciting it is to finally feel nothing

After all that yelling!

.

And after a few months of healing

And getting your bearings straight

You gasp that the source of the fire

Has gone away.

After all, it's been a year now

That burning is all you've known.

.

Loss cries anew, a gaping, ragged wound.

It's just smoke, a ghostly ribbon, the last hiss

Before the ashes.

.

The ash settles, blankets over what was of me,

The roaring best of me becomes still.

Tell me, am I gone?

This vibrant thing reduced to powder scattered by wind?

No.

.

Under the ashes my earth is richer,

somehow nourished by the scorch,

ready to birth anew.

.

What do I do with all this fertile ash?

.

"Destroy to create,"

the wind whispers as it caresses the bits of me.

A harsh cycle, but necessary.

.

What burned away was what could.

What’s left is mine to keep.