Mother Ash

I am Mother Ash –

Burned down to cinders long ago.

Scorched fingers to the bone and apologized to the dressings.

Protestant work ethic and

Weighted choices.

Hospital corners on the sheets

Of the bed which I made and now I lie.

Lay like scorched earth.

My core once was molten but now

Stock still

Like igneous rock.

Place your fingers in my

Stone ventricles.

Pull out nothing but dust and forgotten dreams.

I lay down my palms to you

Arteries outstretched like blue

Veined marble.

Cold like a forsaken bedroll,

Like an abandoned campsite,

Cold like frost on coniferous trees.

I am Mother Ash

Ignorant

Soot wife.

Spent kindling,

And no way to begin again.