Epiphany Ashes

from 2007

The last time I was here

a mountain of coniferous fuel

awaited the snickering flames,

and we loaded on the greens,

hauling limbs and branches and trunks

and snapping pieces of tree

into the orange mouth of the Epiphany fire.

We stood around in down and flannel,

hugging ourselves and shivering.

A coyote howled up on Sassafras Mountain.

Today I pull together a snarl of rusted metal,

the pale green glass nose

of an old-fashioned Coke bottle,

 a dented metal bowl,

and a stick, long as a branch

but barer,

to frame a place of ash and pagan collusion against the cold,

a marking of the passage of winter

and the exchange of sacred gifts.

The dry grass crackles around my heels.

The auburn pinestraw

and the green imperious blossom

of an invading dandelion

have become the gifts these Epiphany ashes offer me,

the sacramental metal of the bowl

the perfect shade of gray

(not silver)

in the summer light.

©Laura Sorrells 2007

all rights reserved