August 26, 2016, Prescott-
I saw the face of our Prescott hero.
She was looking out on us,
from the lead photo of a USA Today piece,
on a series of interviews with those who saw her there,
in that place of desolation, where she was the only source of love.
She loves her people, still.
I wear a message T-shirt,
honouring the fallen men of that day,
three years and two months ago.
They look out upon us,
from a crew photo taken after the Doce Fire,
two weeks before the Death Storm.
They love their families, still.
I look at the woman who loved me,
more than anyone.
She gazes out, with confidence,
from a photo of her teen life.
She gave us the best years of her life.
She loves me still.
I look upon my little ones,
imperfect, works in progress,
sometimes exhausting, at times frightful.
There are those times, though,
when they finish work, when they listen,
when they just know
that I love them still.
(To obviate the drumbeat of “Where’s The Book of Poetry?”, know that I will start compiling what I’ve written here and organizing it into a volume, during the next seven days. That volume of verse will hopefully be ready for self-publication by January, 2017.)