Tuesday, May 01, 2012
My Husband Burns the Yard Waste After His Father Dies
The Fire Marshall came, looked, shook his head, nope.
Seventy-five feet from any structure. Not possible in this yard.
Then he turned on a half-wink, sniffed the breeze, said,
Nice spot for a little camp fire.
All morning my husband stands with it, the burning.
He stares, like one does, into the fire
until the winds shift in his direction
and his eyes begin to water.
Safe Passage, Ray. July 28, 1931 - April 28, 2012