Westwind

We Were Young

Kathryn deLancellotti

We were so young when we

left the city lights to climb

 

the mountain, and discover the

tree house was too small for us.

 

Four redwood pillars couldn’t hold

the fire, so I continued to

 

live without my skin. Red bark

burned through starless nights,

 

coyotes screamed, blue jays

squawked in darkness. I moved

 

high up the mountain hoping to

feel the hand of God smear the ash

 

between my eyes, wash me clean

in a silent river. But the land was

 

cursed, and the groves

that were his first temples

 

burned with fire. We were banished

by flames, so we climbed down the mountain,

 

watched ash turn to dust and float away

in the light.

Top

Hand coded by CRUXimaging