Ashes to Orange

Photo by alsen. CC0/Public Domain license.
Photo by alsen. CC0/Public Domain license.

On the balcony of the rich woman, life is about wonder at this moon rise,
orange, over mountains, city, and salt bay. It is about all death,
and her father’s lost ashes, and crying to her husband where the world

may witness that her riches are dollars and vistas and sorrows. Life
has always been about the non-rhyming guise of orange, purses filled
versus empty pockets, our fathers’ deaths and the disposition

of their ashes (divide? ignore? sprinkle in the Teton Range of his hiking youth?),
always, about heights of balconies peering over homes or worlds

where only low yards and air stirred at last memory,

and who is witness and who records the rich woman crying on her balcony
at this looming moon (lopped, gibbous, orange), looming as it will — as laws
of matter and energy say moons must loom, and, in the middle of the night,

glow back the sun. She cries

because she knows it’s about a grand scheme of nothingness,
inevitability of ashes, and the vast open everything of now.

Categories Poetry

Pamela Hobart Carter loves Seattle as much for its water and mountains as for its bustle and creativity. She explores the Emerald City daily while walking her dog. Carter used to be a teacher who wrote on the side. Now she is a writer who teaches on the side.

Creative Commons License
Except where otherwise noted, the content on this site is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.