October Fire

Once, a child alone when October came
I hear his footsteps just in the next room
and when I rush to see him there
he wasn’t there. He was everywhere.

Much later I cross a river, climb the embankment
of trees, upwards to the plains, dry and dusty
their breath, until I choke, my breath raw
diseased, my bones on fire, the pain rasping
pits of agony, feet twisted into unnatural screws.
He stands clothed like a burning bush in wilderness
autumn’s cloak across the mountaintop
a fire unnatural, burning yet not burning
for blind eyes to see, deaf ears to hear, “I AM.”

Now as another October comes
I feel him near, the warmth of his presence
a river running through the weatherized
windows and doors, invisibly clear.

I know this darkness before light
I know this voice before sound
I know this death in life
where bush burns but is not consumed.

I wait.

Mish's Open Link Night #275
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40 thoughts on “October Fire

  1. Oh, this stanza made me tear up a bit:

    “I know this darkness before light
    I know this voice before sound
    I know this death in life
    where bush burns but is not consumed.”

    This whole piece is so stunning and powerful. Another brilliant work, Dora. This is incredibly visceral.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. The “knowing” of the uncanny, as much as is revealed, makes all the difference. Thank you so much for your kind comments, Björn. I hadn’t thought about that poetic quality of softness in poetry. Must explore this thought more. 🙂

      Like

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