The Burn Pile

[iQuestor]

Another one. These come to me when I am at my weekend place on the lake.

The burn pile

Every year I do this
when the summer heat is gone,
when the leaves have fallen,
and the year is winding down,
and the cold wind keeps them off the lake
and in by the fire.
out here by the lake
I burn

I drag the fallen limbs
down to the pit by the lake:
all of the detritus of summer,
all of the boxes from christmas,
the oar I broke, a rake handle;
pieces of lumber I used for the dock,
leaves that were green,
and now brown;
I burn these things.
I am cleaning up.
every year I do this.

By the lake, I burn
when everyone else is inside.
I watch the pile consumed
I am warmed by the fire and memories
I do not feel alone
my face flushes at the warmth,
and my hopes of next season
lift with the embers
glowing towards the heavens.
I watch them go up, hopeful.
Every year I do this

After,
the pile is consumed.
its just ashes and memories.
they smoulder there
by the Lake.
I go back to the house
up the hill; as I climb
warmth is leached away
by the cold.
and she says with some disdain
when I open the door,
'you smell of smoke.'

[Wyldewode]

I thought I had already commented on this one. . . but I (apparently) misremember.

I really like this poem! Please post more of your writing!