Ashes

Like any slow burn
It starts low
First
Sputtering in fields of pumpkins
Vines like fuses on cartoon bombs.

It spreads on monarch wings,
Lighting candles of goldenrod
Climbs up creeper
Up spicebush and poison ivy
Igniting dogwood, then sumac.

Flame-throwing tupelos torch sassafras, tulip, and cherry.

Oaks look on
Unmoved, untouched

Wind from Wisconsin and maples yield
Hickories too succumb.
Now beech go metallic
Welding alloys unknown to other leaves
While sycamores char brown a leaf at a time with
Studious deliberation.

At last the oaks
Lofty and cautious and cool
Acquiesce: It's time.
Most go gently brown like tired, giant broccoli cooked too late
To save its color.

Meanwhile, the Sun
Slinks south, folding its flames like a fluid cloak
About a blushing face.
And it the instigator, careless
As motorists tossing matches as they speed away
Leaving ashes
Spinning in the wind.

– Betsy Reeder