Full Circle Farmhouse

Dedicated to Michele and George

Photo by Jen Theodore on Unsplash

The acrid residue of smoke

Came to rest in our passageways

As we walked through the hull

Of the old farmhouse,

Sidestepping fallen sculptures

Of black wood and twisted metal.

The house survived the

Civil War and

Inserted itself

Into the union

Of a cast iron wood stove

And a thin wall of cement.

Wood curled and glowed

Behind the wall for years

Until it finally said,

“Enough.”

The irony of the name

Of the farm

Escaped no one.

A new beginning

Would lay to rest

The pets, photos,

Mementos, and history

That expired that day

In a haze of smoke.

The aftermath reminds me

Of an old sonnet,

A glowing fire being consumed

By that which nourished it,

And lives emerging from ashes,

Coming full circle.