Ash Aloft

Lindsay Remee Ahl: (“Hidden Flame” in The Southern Review, Summer 2018)

I was ash in the wide sky.

François Lachance:

I was awash in the wide sky

I think the wash comes from the very painterly presences in this lyric.

Her poem opens:

I spent my childhood in a cave,
    outside glowing snow, inside Byzantine paintings,
ceiling bats, everything drawn like a breath.
    When I wanted to leave, I lit myself on fire; it didn’t hurt—
I listened to the flames the way an owl listens to air currents;
    I was ash in the wide sky.

Indeed, everything drawn like a breath, exhaling to ash …

And so for day 2489

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