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Dark Mountain

Dark Mountain

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Matter yearning to become spirit; white ash under the trees,

skid marks of the Lord’s breath.

So light where are you after all this—

my house in ruins, none of the past to rake, sift

none of it.

I raised my children here, young mother I was

all trial and error.

Dark mountain now and in the quiet hour

of dusk we left

slept next to the corral

in the sedan loaded with quilts,

bags of photos, memorabilia,

under the three hundred year old oak

that had watched the cattle

for a century

come and go,

and the cowboy that day of the fire

found every cow and calf

even the pair that huddled in the creek bed

as we had huddled in our seats, tried

to sleep

as the flames came nearer

and the next day that giant tree fell

right there after our departure.

Oh oil sheen black the pastures

where tar weed grew indelibly

each August, the golden cloth of it….

Raw-boned god,

you’ve traumatized your daughter--

wasn’t it enough

the friends I lost to suicide,

to cancer?

Do you listen, you there hardened

like the day moon,

twisted beauty of the madrone, the toyon,

short fuse of manzanita?

Leonore Wilson

Former Napa County Poet Laureate

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