Spring Intervention

,

.

She had carried in a blood-haze

the loss of her father, mother, and brother

just so long

                  they’ve slipped their names

to become one flame into which she rakes

the mulberry’s long-fallen leaves.

She has dug away with her fingers

every torn, saw-toothed, and browned-heart carcass

from under bushes, stones, and the new stems of

desert marigolds.

She is visited soon by a couple of cats and

a horse of a dog who has slipped its leash.

A few neighbors stop over. Everyone acts themselves

but with more crackle in their eyes, seeds bursting

under their skulls, bits added to the fire

while they’re watching it all stand up inside of her—

Alms, she believes, for the afterlife of one at the end of the day.