Mar 17

Remake Ashes

With the ground uncovered
comes forgotten items.
We haul them out
with our rusting blue wheelbarrow.
He squeaks plaintively
asking for one moment to oil
his husky joints.
Thaw and relive.

We burn things.

Ashy memories float in the air,
hung between us with the strings
we used to finger knitting each other scarfs.
Pieces of my past drift in the place
between my lungs and yours.
Forming smoke clouds,
that look like the first time we held hands,
locked in the back of my garage, in the cold night.

We forgive.

Hands find each other again,
no fire could cool the water spilling
from eyes, hearts, lungs.
Forgive, apologize for fire.
Apologize for coals.
Apologize for ashes.

Now remake the ashes.