Kate LaDew
on throwing precious things into fires
thoughts, words, perfect phrases, loves, desires
crisp, once, as cut apple, they curl in the heat
the/and/see/me/we baby’s feet
scaffoldings of prayer shawls, blue threads fade into black and white
only photographs now on a glowing digital page
if you squint hard, you see faith discarded, a pile of hopes,
the residue of shoulders curving every fold
indentions specific to one beating heart
the backdrop of trains, soldiers, pale white sky
and smoke, always smoke, always burning
we tried to break them down to a cinder but they rise