War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

mountain ash

you see you see the waxwings
little feathery lemons balancing,
strip the mountain ash bare
it is autumn, the air is burnt
you love the
smokey offering

your leaving strips bare
as all day waxwings swallow
tiny globes of fire
dare you to walk across
white hot desert, helmeted,
dare you to do the disappearing man
trick, this time for real.

you come home though,
a different man,
confused, memory bleeds
everywhere, open veined,
duty and history mixed up,
you finger her prayer beads
slung over her bedroom door,
count mullberries, show her
the tree of life. then

your lips are cedar waxwings
stripping her bare, bare
as the Rowan tree
each berry, the knots of her spine,
a perfect, firey globe,
her ribs, the branches
of that beautiful, beautiful tree
you love, admire so much,
your mouth on hers sharp,
tart, clean, as fresh cut lemons.
remember it soldier, beloved,
remember the mountain ash
that grows steady, does not fail you
as you fall asleep soundly, peacefully
her body strong, straight grooved
into yours, the tree alive, outside.


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The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled mountain ash. It was posted here on April 19, 2011.

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