Orchard
       

I torched our orchard last night.
The first flames were feathers
fallen from some bright,
fabled bird.
The trees wept sparks and apples
and I said goodbye
to the faces in the bark.

Soon it was a field of light
like the glass sunsets of winter
when you'd be tucked in safe
while I wandered the orchard,
protecting our perimeter.

The fire panted, a great animal
and I thought of the time,
my head in your lap,
a kind-eyed lion
was painted on the sky.
I thought it was sent to keep us safe,
believed in guardians then,
spells, the voices
of branches. And you.
None of that matters now.

Last night I torched the orchard.
It's gone now. I'm not sure
it was ever there.

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Copyright © 2017 Susan Millar DuMars All rights reserved
from Bone Fire
Salmon Poetry
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission