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Prairie Fire

Prairie Fire

Painting of a prairie at sunset

Prairie Fire was previously published in Cutleaf Journal

Each year, the placard tells us,      Ho-Chunk Indians          burned this prairie to ash,       rooting out invasive species –             the buckthorn and the honeysuckle,                   so eager to conquer                       and upend precarious order.   Still, when settlers came,    with their muskets, beaver traps, plagued blankets, larceny disguised as      gratitude                        no cleansing burn laid clean the land                        no prairie fires   released the seeds of a new spring                     and the ancestors’ ghosts wept.
Today, trudging up sage-drab      hillside snaked by waterways,         lined in desiccated grasses,     looking down on fields of oxtail, purple coneflower, silky aster      cleaving mightily to the  embattled substrate,              clamoring their defiance                 in gaudy hues,      I am thinking of how            the Ho-Chunk know a secret: that to destroy something so                   very precious to you,           some part of what you call home,  is to let it return to you      filled only with              the essence of all it was ever meant to be,       black and bare,                  seeded                         and ready for spring.