That the wind stilled. That the last cloud shrank and the blue sky enveloped what remained. That settled ash greyed the ground where the garden had burned. That Lucy reached to what once was a bed of leafy green. That she sifted the ashes through her fingers, watched the fineness of them wisp the air like pollen. That she took off her inner red skirts and white outskirts that had swirled around her as she spun. That she took off her headpiece with its jagged bolts of lightening crackling from the center. That she took off her transparent shawl, fringed with water droplets, and removed her underpants, the crotch stained with old iron. That she folded her clothes neatly, laid them on a tree stump, and stood naked over the bed. That she bent down among the ashes. Lowered her body all the way to them. Became them in the heat radiating from the sun.
| Kim Parko |
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