Ashes of a Promise
Fire consumes the trees, taking the familiar—
canopy, shelter,
the sound of birds,
the scurry of small lives
in the brush.
What once held life falls silent.
It leaves a black scar,
nothing but ash
where memory once stood.
But beneath the ash,
the ground is not finished.
Heat cracks open what was sealed.
Light reaches soil that has never known it.
Seeds long buried begin to wake.
The forest does not return as it was.
It grows back changed—
new trees,
new life,
claiming the space as home.
What the fire consumed
was not the promise,
only the familiar.
And even now,
the earth remembers what was placed there—
before fire,
before loss.
Trisha Whipple is a 7th-grade Science Teacher who uses poetry to understand the world. Her poems explore ideas of faith and reflect on how those truths appear in everyday life.
Amethyst Review 