Poetry Porch: Poetry

 

On the Burning Pile
by Celia Hensel


On the burning pile by the pines on the hill one morning
I found water-stained photographs of my parents
The edges turned a shocking yellow
Like the cautionary paint meant only to be straight, guiding lines
Accidentally spilled on the sidewalk pavement
On a series of images meant only to be black, white, and grey
Interrupted by a single color

Elements of earth and dew combined with those of the photos
And the chemical reaction resulted in an unusual variety of lichen
And as it crept into their love story
Their expressions remained the same, they didnít seem to care
Nor to notice, what had come into their lives

Still, they sat proudly holding up the trout
Humbled, gazing at the open sea from the skiff
Anonymously, behind the lens watching the incoming tide cradle
                       a small island
Within a brief time of post-marriage and pre-family
Was a day out fishing.



Copyright © 2012 by Celia Hensel.