Letting The Fire Take Us

How does one chronicle a life?

In letters. In photos.
In the people and places we’ve loved?

If a fire overtakes the house of one’s soul
what do we grab as we escape the flames
before the intense heat
turns our lungs into useless bellows
for the life force of the long days
and nights of breath?

Images of faces—
our baby selves
and our children’s bright new eyes
unable tofocus in all the light—

Our mother’s longing smile
at forty next to the lines that will follow you
into the next twenty years
if you are that lucky.

The embrace of a life folded
into the pages of albums and boxes
that pale in comparison to the memory
or to the life itself.

If Buddha took my hand,
lead me out of the flames,
sat me down next to his tree of abundance,
he would tell me to leave it all behind—
illusion and all,
notice the fleeting sense of permanence,
he might tell me not to burden myself
or my children with anything but the joy
and suffering right in front of us today.
The knapsack of this life is already heavy
and it is time to release myself
and continue on the journey
lighter than any heart has traveled.

I could give it all to the fire today,
every single item and misplaced trust,
even leave the ashes of my children
with no guilt or sorrow
for the promise of the path
beyond the farthest star.

I would easily fly away there,
never, ever come back
to these tired and charred remains
with a grateful smile
on my true face.

From that distant place
I might finally find peace.