As much life spent moving down this dirt road
as I've spent in a forward fold, on the rug in my house,
the rugs of my houses—
the many rugs, many houses
Something about the red sun on her eyes
in June's smokey apparitions
April, these years,
as I admit the world burns sooner than even
when I was a child
This is the dirt road
I grew up on, but they
Melissa (our piano teacher),or Gaelin (he died), or Louissa (my best friend for an instant),
Ethan's family, my brother's old baby sitter, or the man he watered plants for
they don't live here anymore
regardless (in any event) even so-so come what may
the road would go beyond
doesn't end, goes on, and on, - - - - - - -movement,
it isn't distance
the real artist
is the body that
creates the embodiment that
fulfills the motions
of the making of all these things.
Lacrimas Ignis // Tears for Fire
Short reflection, April '23
Infinite memories and interminable expectance of watching a home burn
strange rituals we
never understand, but ultimately home is a door you're not afraid to knock on
About a year ago, April 2022, northern New Mexico—
on a trip home,
my brother and I drive alongside the first hours of what would become New Mexico's most destructive wildfire to date.
By the time we make it to our parents' house
well,
Something about the red sun on her eyes
and smokey apparitions she sees
in the world that burns sooner every year now than
even when I was a child.
I love my home.
So I guess, on the first anniversary of the Calf Canyon/Hermits Peak Fire,
I wanted to take a moment to reflect on these pivotal moments, moments of
shared fear, muted footsteps,
sore throats, burning eyes
People from places that burn know that
the places we become ourselves
are vulnerable
That the world replaces itself long before it wants to,
that becoming is death
that when we dig the cat carrier out of the garage and
leave it at the ready by the front door, that when we latch the fire chests shut
(birth certificates and copies of wills inside)
that when we make these dark sky motions
these come-what-may movements,
these fire rituals
we're bodies in fear that today is the day home becomes concept
I wonder...how much life spent
going home
spent walking down our dirt road
in interminable expectance
Always and forever.
© 2023 Maggie Gerber
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