Fire Woman

I admit to a lack of confidence at times, but when it comes to building a fire, I have no doubts. During a rainy August campout in the 1980s, I first discovered my talent at creating a raging blaze during a torrential rain. The forest service informed us they had run out of regular wood and supplied each camper with a stack of boards instead. While our neighboring campers gave up, I constructed a roaring blaze out of just the right amount of newspaper and ascending layers of boards.

Since then, I celebrate my alliance with Sister Fire.

I am Fire Woman.



The shortening of days and slanted white glare of the sun

force me to slow down.

Go within.

To accept a measure of death.

A lethargic yielding to decay,

like soggy yellow leaves splattering the sidewalk.

I embrace this autumn of my life.

This goldening and withering.

The inevitable decay and giving way to the next season.

This plunge into the Void.