Ashes

The dust and smoke of autumn fires

ascend and dance in the air, then settle.

Daytime dissipates sooner,

and we find ourselves impatient for the dawn.

Crows’ caws are heard ‘round seven,

no longer do they rise by spring’s early clock.

I am always surprised by the dark of autumn,

which descends unexpectedly, abruptly

while our thoughts still tend toward summer sun.

But, willing or not, life is alteration.

The earth turns and tilts, and the seasons evolve,

as do we throughout our years.

I will one day darken for long and ever.

The light will fade from my eyes,

and they will be shut by a steady hand.

Then my ashes will creep back

into the fold of dirt and dusky heavens

where they will ascend and settle as from autumn fires.

Janet Guastavino is a fifth-generation San Franciscan and a graduate of UC Berkeley, where she researched and earned a degree in Women’s and Ethnic Studies. An instructional designer by trade, she has been writing poetry for the past fifteen years and has been published digitally and in hard copy.