Fire is an aria, not a red curtain.
What survived? A filing cabinet,
a pair of diamond earrings, a skillet.
Fire is a contest, not a medal.
What survived? A porcelain sink,
two spoons, a knife, some bricks.
Fire is a sermon, not a pulpit.
What survived? A wedding ring
made of gold, a hacksaw, a wrench.
What’s born in fire will not burn.
What survives? The memory of being
undone, re-formed: to forge ahead.
Fire is a gasp for breath, not a corpse.
What survived? Seeds of scrub pine,
lodge pole and jack, sleeping beauties.
All waiting for a furnace kiss.
Click here to read Brandel France de Bravo on the origin of the poem.
Image: by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash, licensed under CC 2.0.
Brandel France de Bravo is the author of two poetry collections, co-author of a parenting book, and the editor of a bilingual anthology of Mexican poetry. Her poems and essays have appeared in various publications, including Alaska Quarterly Review, Cincinnati Review, The Georgia Review, Green Mountains Review, and Gulf Coast. She teaches a meditation program developed at Stanford University called Compassion Cultivation Training.
Latest posts by Brandel France de Bravo (see all)
- Resilience I - May 10, 2022
Beautiful!