Waves

“The deepest lessons come out of the deepest waters and the hottest fires.” 

— Elisabeth Elliot

He goes to make me another cup…

(Somehow coffee always tastes better 

when he does). And I stay still and listen 

to a gentle melody — I rarely sit in silence 

these days, so soothed by cello and piano — 

no words, just waves of woodwinds & strings.

In between songs or during decrescendos,

I can hear the humming next door—a fire 

spread through one house, severely 

damaged another, and that house 

is now powered by a tractor-sized

generator….If I listen past the grumble,

I can hear the first sounds 

of morning birds in the tall pine

that shades our window, but it seems

there are fewer now than before the burn,

perhaps they found a new neighborhood.

It has been two weeks since the red

trucks from emergency services filled 

our block. There is a giant tarp over 

the roof covering the mangled house 

where they poured in hours of water —

a serpentine hose from a towering ladder

just kept pumping as we waited

for the river to come, but the ground

just sucked it up, the house a sponge,

and we all stood outside helpless

and in shock.

And now, miles away, Texas continues

to burn…. So much loss… We wait

to hear about containment… We saw

the ruin of one house, one small part

of our neighborhood, and now the towns

of Gorman and Carbon must be feeling

like the family two houses down

(We never even took the time to know them)

and I fear as the winds pick up, we

will see ash heaps from fields of flames,

land razed, ruin, and I pray for clean,

cool mercy to come in waves.

All this and Ukraine, and I sit

—full, safe — waiting for love

to bring me a second cup of warmth.

—C.L. Fisher, March 2022

Unless otherwise indicated, all writings and images are the work of C.L. Fisher and may not be copied, used, or distributed without permission.

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