At the end of that last summer
that last summer we were like you
so dry it was, and so hot
when even the pines could give us no shade
and their brown, sharp needles, paler each day, fell
at first I thought the sound was rain
in drifts beneath dying branches
where they cut and scratched our feet till they swelled
then at the time of day that no shadows were cast
a piece of fire fell from the sky
and the sun grew on the ground.
Ravenous, it began to eat the earth.
Carrying babies, grandparents, the infirm
we fled, for a time ahead of the smoke and flames
but after the barren hungry summer
we were in a weakened state, even
the strongest. One by one we made the choice
to continue alone or die with our families;
I cannot fault one’s decision to stay
or another’s to abandon
for myself, after my old parents, my wife
and our children all but one fell like pine needles.
I chose to walk with my firstborn.
My oldest daughter who’d always been
strong as a man and slow to tire
walked beside me for how long
days, nights, lifetimes.
When she tripped and fell, the others
by then fewer in number
than the fingers on both my hands
watched without hope or interest
would I have done the same if I were them
her struggle to stand, singed lids closing
slowly slowly over dull desiccated eyes.
I lifted her, my firstborn. My heart recalled
her birth, her mother
her small brothers and sisters
her grandparents
and tore. Rent, it spilled and emptied.
Then from emptiness great hunger emerged
much like had the sun’s in summer
and through the air
less smoky now, and cold
sensing from the north a corporal warmth
a young mother’s arms and breast
and a sound from the north, a lost child’s cry
young bones and skin tender
ice-cut feet bleeding into snow
Follow me; let us walk, I said to the others.
Ravenous, I lifted my daughter.
Ravenous, I carried her across my shoulders.
Ravenous, I stepped the first step
follow me, let us walk
and then ravenous, the remnant rose and followed.
We had fled from heat to seek the cold,
endless cold our dark and everlasting life
where we never slept again, and where
in endless appetite we search for you
your warm breath
your blood that flows bright
and steams in winter air.
How we despise your frailties, envy your souls,
how we love and hate your living flesh;
how we yearn and crave past death
past life we hunger, and we walk today.