Today’s art delivery arrives in the form of poetry. You might know the work of Canadian spoken word poet Shane Koyczan, but did you know he lives just down the lake from me? Yes, he’s our local celebrity! In fact, [trigger warning] Shane lives in the small city that my family / our entire town fled to when a wildfire erupted at 1am on August 8th. Shane and I have never met, but I do follow him (you should too if you don’t already), so when I saw this poem he wrote about that night, I had to share it. I know many of you have probably felt the same fear, confusion and loss that comes from experiences like this. I hope Shane’s words make you feel understood, but more importantly, supported and hopeful for the future ahead.
“20,000”
The fire doesn’t knock on doors
it just walks in
and makes shadow puppets
out of our lives
it licks away the notches on walls
that once proved how much the children have grown
it chews on the furniture
the boxes of memories
the keepsakes and heirlooms
it chars the teddy bears
and stuffed animals
like over roasted marshmallows
family photos melt into nothing on its tongue
it leaves behind only what it can’t swallow
a roll of quarters meant for the parking meter
they remain but now are all fused together
like a stack of butterscotch lifesavers
left in the console of a car
on a hot day
a pair of scissors that a mother used
to give her daughter bangs
chimneys now stand like headstones
pointing to a sky still bruised with smoke
it is taking the nests that chirp
with hatchlings too young to fly
the warrens and dens
with offspring too young to flee
homes became ash in a single night
20,000 evacuees
have all been told to leave behind
the treasures there isn’t room for
the ones strangers might deem trivial
but mean everything
the cane a granddaughter
made for her grandad
in woodworking class
after his hip started to give him trouble
the drawings and the A+ tests
pinned to the fridge with pride
the love letters a husband and wife wrote to each other
before email was a thing
and memories were all flammable
but even in the overstuffed luggage
there is still room for hope
it fits into the smallest places
like something we forgot was the first thing we packed
we will find it again in the few who run toward the danger
while 20,000 have been told to go in the opposite direction
we see it
in the community that takes us in
without even knowing our names
in the hands that reach through the falling ash
to offer all of what little they have
it reminds us
that the roots of true community
are fireproof
and that though much of what we are losing will stay lost
our future will grow back.
Beautiful.
My family is so grateful that we had a house to come home to after the eleven day evacuation, but a lot of people in our town can’t say the same. We will rally around them though, because like Shane said, “the roots of true community are fireproof.”
Thank you for reading. Have a lovely day ~ Danielle
Bio photo by @kaareiverson
No posts
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.