Lit this slash pile one week ago, a small pile as far as slashing and burning goes Since then it’s melted, rained, and snowed Unusual and erratic behavior for January and February in this country Country that the Salish would’ve known to move out of before winter set in. Shouldn’t be anything other than frozen and buried in snow but nothing acts now in the way it used to, and no one can predict what’s coming, yet we keep reporting our guesswork like we know something, still playing make-believe with our ideas about control, specifically about how we’d like to be in it— maybe because we like the idea of stability so much and wish we had it despite our tireless irony.
And here is this little steam-***, this natural wonder of vitality and perseverance, issuing one more quiet reminder of how little we know of our actions or the cycles they’ve started.
Narrated this poem. You can listen to the reading here: https://youtu.be/wHaFcXWMkls?si=vn9D5y3cS2tt-F1M