Thoreau

ashes, ashes, we all fall down

by Amy Belding Brown

this ash
will never rest
even now it scratches
throat and lungs
like pink fingernails
of some young woman
trying to hold on
but falling
            falling
                        falling
and maybe
she is terrified
or maybe just surprised
at how swiftly one bright day
can become this long
and brutal night

October 4, 2001

Copyright © Amy Belding Brown