We became experts at woodstoves and fire, my brother and I taking comfort in the warmth, the smoking and heaving, the blue-orange blaze of rings burning off consequential years that the gnarled pine had gathered over decades of surviving gales and storms, and even the early snow in ’84 which brought limbs collapsing upon the roof of Mom and Dad’s room in October and put us out in the cold, the one whose embers we stoked with an iron prod to bring comfort that day when the house shook us awake. Shedding its flimsy branches, still heavenward, it stood. That tree from whose weakness we drew life sacrificed its brokenness on that bitter day like today when all’s not right with the world but the light of the home fire. ~ Rae Carpenter Originally published in Poetry Quarterly
Happy Thanksgiving. You remain in my prayers.
I am sorry I lashed out at you. Forgive me old friend.
I am thankful for our old friendship and maybe some time, we will be friends again.
God bless you and your family.
I am sorry I lashed out at you.
Give me time to heal. You remain in my prayers.
I am no use to you unless I cut out all social media contact.