Kelly Burdick is a poet, artist, and librarian living in…
Together we’ve gathered them, these sheaves,
like pages from Nag Hammadi’s codices,
piling them, raking the scattered reams
of dusty, crumpled, nut-brown oak leaves.
Out of yard waste bags (that match in hue), we turn
to less than legal methods. Unconcerned
with smoke, I crave the scent and you yearn
for the hot glow of this autumnal burn.
Striking a match, I smell it catch. Alight,
our faces burn with joy, a shamed delight.
When I drop the flame, leaves smolder and writhe,
a curl of smoke rising toward November sky.
While future Falls burn away like leaves on fire,
I’ll fill my lungs with ash; breathe in tonight’s entire.
Kelly Burdick is a poet, artist, and librarian living in a tiny town in the Inland Northwest. Their writing has appeared in Eclectica, Segullah, Inscape, and elsewhere. They are an editor of the chicken-centric art and poetry zine COOP: chickens of our poetry. You can find more of their work at kellyerin.com.