A Pile to Burn

A Pile to Burn
Anna Lundy

your hardworking fingers
yellowed by time
i watch them do their
little dance around the
nutcracker.

everyone’s living
their quiet little lives.
small town. my town.
but it feels so quiet – so cold
now that you’re gone.

the warm light
emanating from your
window where you sat
makes me feel that
you’re home.

you left a pile to burn outside
near your garden. just a few twigs, forming a myriad. a family. the creation of your feeble hands. as the sun sets,
the light from your window glows on.