What is smoke? my daughter asks
beside a campfire I can’t quite get to flame.
I know it’s not a liquid, she says.
Is it a gas? Is it a solid?
Simple. Straightforward. Something
I should know, I’m sure.
I start to say it’s what’s left
when the wood gives up the ghost,
but then I think of ash—
I always think of ash,
how it’s something but nothing,
what’s left when something’s gone.
There was a woman, then there was ash
her husband and the men she loved
scattered on the beach. The wind
wouldn’t let her stay there where she wanted.
My mother, seeding cancer, more ash
than paper dangling from her Lucky Strike.
What is it? my daughter says.
Nothing, I respond.
No, she says, what is smoke? I say
It’s what I make instead of fire.
Evan’s has an understanding of how people look at loss in their life. He is able to to explain these thoughts in a way that most people can’t express. I appreciate the way he makes me think.
i lvoe the poem, bob. so moving and powerful. love,maria
This is a great example of Bob’s wonderful work — there should be more of his work out in the world! Thanks, PIF editors!
Wonderful existential moment. “Wood giving up the ghost” marvelous. I love the use of “ash” throughout.
I love the play on ash and smoke and how the lines trail each other like smoke rising.
Mark
Great work, as usual. How I admire your talent
Wonderful as always – such a way with words!
simple, straightforward… perfect.
Lovely poem. And 27 years teaching?!?
Well done, a very talented writer.
I read this two days ago and again today. I like it more each time I read it. Thank you.