After the Fires

We were afraid to go back
afraid to listen to the stories
ash and bone might tell
We wanted to believe our lives were immutable
untouchable by nature, fate or disaster
At twilight we skirted the base of the first burned hill
reclaimed her scorched shoulder
her ruined slope
The ground beneath our feet released puffs of smoke
like ancient ghosts they rose up around us
to disappear into wind
We thought of Spirit Lake in the mountains near Shasta
how some believe out of nothing a spirit may be reborn
into the physical shape of a tree, a bush, a rock or stream
Is this what your Grandmother felt the morning she called for
the healer
to bring the spirit back into the shape of you?
How the healer came into your Grandmother’s kitchen where
you lay
and began to sing a song to reclaim your place among the living
There was so much loss you had to travel through
She told your Grandmother to make a circle of salt
to open all the windows
Is this what I have learned from you?
How the soul of a thing cannot be destroyed by fire but
remains buried beneath ash
bound in a circle of salt waiting to return
to its physical presence?
You returned through a dark land
with no sign posts, only spirit songs and the rattle of sacred bones
to guide you
You came into all four directions at once
and startled your Aunts who placed their hands
in a blessing on you
We stand at the base of the burned hill
and taste the left behind spirit of lightning
the soft core of ash, the outline of smoke
that haunts this body of earth
At the edge of the road one tree persists
like the spirit of a child
moving through a land of loss
into the body of a boy again
dreaming a new shape
into all four directions at once
returning to the land of his birth.