Burning Bush

When did I see a sign I could not

ignore? I had loved the burning

bush in fall, its sharp red leaves

beside the woodpile, and then one

season it died, as everything

created must die. There were years,

then, of other colors, before

a volunteer sprouted too near

the shed, and more time passed

before the first roots revived

underground and sent up a new

bush near its original home

beside the fence. How gently

everything has been restored,

as it was to Job, though I never

forget his first family, and how

God seemed to forget… Now,

in Ukraine, families will be

separated, people will seek refuge

in other lands, hoping someday

to return to their first home.

I have seen signs of my own grief

for years in dark dreams, and even

of the woes of others near me,

not always able to interpret

until after the fact, so fearful am I

of being one who can see…but if

I am one who can see, I must see

and find a way to own it, to tell it.

— Babs