we sleep in
breathe out
push back
the ashes of
the fallen
ones

the tallest, once

how they slipped
across the creeks
of your sky

brittle
they caught
like tinder
and we watched
their leaves
curl

branches bent
against the weight
of the fire

that year
the flames crept in
like wolves:
tongues lolling
and quiet,
mouths hanging
in anticipation.

the birch trees
blackened, then
and we watched
their bark
peel back
until

they became ghosts
smoke wraiths
clothed in pitch
with no roots
and no voice

only spaces

where before
hung
ornaments
of our lives

that summer
the soil bled for them
grandmother
the sun burned for them

it sang
potlatch songs
and
carved
their faces in
the banks
by the road

now
let the winter come

and
we’ll drift
back down
to sleep

08/31/2009

Posted on 08/31/2009
Copyright © 2025 Christina Butcher