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The Last of It Is Ash
January 12, 2021
She came in the dark of night-
ablaze in her fury,
creeping silently.
She came from the north,
crashed through the woods-
ripping at the grass,
stealing leaves from trees.
A tantrum in the backyard.
She came inside next,
stormed up the steps,
Flung open door.
Smashing plates
kicking through walls.
She left at the light of dawn-
her madness burnt out
All life gone with it.
Leaving only blackened ash.
© Hali S., Robinson, IL
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I wrote this poem after we lost our house to a wildfire in the summer. Living in California I would hear about devistating fires every year, but they never really seemed real until it became my reality. Fire is destructive. When we were finally able to return to our property and all that was left was a pile of ash it was jarring. Now I know exactly what a fire can do, and I will never forget it.