Fire Followers – a poem by Elizabeth Kuelbs

Fire Followers


Every dawn bluing 
above charred ridges,
a doom off napping. 

Every resting palm frond,
every unstruck match, 
every absent lightning bolt, 

a peace to be sipped 
like cool tangerine juice. 
Every blackened limb 

jabbing up from scorched 
oaks, walnuts, manzanitas, 
a middle finger to the galactic 

hunger of dragons. 
Every fallen ash, every brush 
of smoke, every molecule 

of water, a supplication to the buried 
seeds of old mothers. Every slender stalk
greening skyward, every leaf unfurling, 

every melon-red poppy flouncing out petals, 
the after light 
of flames.    

Elizabeth Kuelbs writes at the edge of a Los Angeles canyon. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Scientific American, Lily Poetry Review, Rust & Moth, and other publications. A Pushcart Prize nominee, she holds an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts. Her chapbooks include Little Victory and How to Clean Your Eyes. Visit her online at https://elizabethkuelbs.com/.