The Fire after Christine Howard Sandoval

BY KAMNA SHASTRI

The green stripe is an almost-mirage Sliver of sky, green trees, quenching waters Of hope and redemption in this house of fire.

So smooth and brown, river delta-mud Earth is not yet separated from her origin in the heart of this house. Yet outside the facade is striped and stripped in revelation; cracks. Lines divided by color.

Adobe presses down but dirt does not settle fully bated breath, an exhalation between Documented history and truth as old as clay

Decompressed particles cling, loosely In rebellious abandon, boldly begging to be touched, seen, understood These subjugated legacies are coming undone.

Whisps of smoke gray and delicate whisper secrets, ghosts too of sacrificed lineages. Their disappearances funded this building, No home-coming here.

Amidst tensions corded

Between settlers and settled

Missionary and missioned

This house of fire may consume itself to ashes

One day.

But now is this gentle green vine so alive

Something shared still stirs.

Gaia’s blue-green life-breath Nourishes bodies calcium and mud. There is water here For now.