Me and the Wood Pile
Today I pulled
all the firewood
out of the shade
at the back of the yard.
Everything there,
in a state of near-rot.
It seemed
a fitting metaphor
for my own thought,
my muddy mind,
heavy and spongy,
the logs welded
with moist dirt,
rolly-pollies, worms,
and not a dry twig
in the lot. Everything
bound by a tangle
of tenacious green
fronds strangling
potential energy. I laid
each piece out against
the garage in the warm
sun, my bedraggled army
wet and fungal, the wood
slick with mushrooms
and not fit for duty.
With each piece unearthed
I felt my head clear.
I know with time
and heat the water-
logged wood will dry.
Like me, under the new
tarp I bought, the logs
will grow hard and firm.
I will protect them,
along with my desire.
Soon, there will be fire.
Lisa Vihos
