prescribed burns

this land used to mean something to me;

it’s where we dug our grave

and packed in the dirt.

after the snow melted, tiny stems came through.

I thought they were flowers

but up close, they were just weeds.

you’re supposed to pull weeds from their roots

so they can’t grow back.

farmers burn their fields to remove what’s growing

to help the plants underneath;

they call it prescribed burns.

I lit a match and held it until only ashes remained,

in awe of how something so violent can be a form of healing.