Today's poem is by Julene Tripp Weaver

Fires Burn Our Tomorrows
       

I'm grateful for that final box
of nectarines from Rama Farm
late summer, before the fire
burned their buildings to the ground,
swept through their orchard.

The inner heat, those oh-so-sweet
nectarines warmed me though
a blistering year, we know
all has changed—we will ourselves
into this new world, climate in disarray

a world filled with disbelievers—a wild
and free world where only the grounding
of cherries, peaches, nectarines, melons,
the countdown of fruits from early wild
salmonberries, raspberries, blackberries,

then blueberries, will buoy us. Fields
swelter taking our bounty, our tears
alive with sorrow—only the sweet
fruit of summer will save us-captured
savor against winter's cold ice.

We are an ungrateful tide, expressing
disbelief against this earth's plenum—
bountiful as a basket of luscious ripe
strawberries—a variety that no longer
exists—so many children will burn

in our fires of disbelief. They will never
know that first taste, the burst and pop
that makes us smile—what we
remember that protects us from storms
that steal tomorrows pleasure.

Copyright © 2025 Julene Tripp Weaver All rights reserved
from Slow Now with Clear Skies
Moonpath Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission