Archived Arts & Entertainment
Alma
(poem from Wildwood Flower by Kathryn Stripling Byer)
Two dead leaves
on the table and ice
floats on milk like the ashes
of leaves. Oak
twigs kindle
and fire leaps like a prayer, “Give us
breath.” When I open
the door and breathe deeply
the cold air inflames me.
The fire seizes log after log.
In the garden my husband burns
dead stalks of squash and potatoes.
I sweep my dust into the coals
and our smoke mingles over the orchard.
In autumn I sweep the floor gladly.
I gather the crumbs from the cupboard,
and the rinds of the apples.
When my dustbin grows heavy,
I give what it holds to the fire
and the fire sings its song:
raise your dead
from the earth, make a fire
of their bones,
set them free
to be sky,
to be nothing at all.
