“Conjugating Verbs After Colorado Burns” by Amy Wray Irish

Sky swept with ash
could have been all the pages
I would have written.

Footsteps lined in ash
could have been all the roads
I might have taken.

Snow laced with ash
could have been a single flake
gray on my lonely tongue.

But it spread. Beyond me
and my old regrets, singular
and cold. This Colorado day

Is the remains of a communal ‘now,’
a present perfect Colorado that flared up
to a stop, died out,

Unable to become the future imagined
by so many. A past that flamed away
so fast we will never forget

What it should have been.
So. Snow laced with ash
could be all the frozen tears

As they fell, are falling, will fall.

About Amy Wray Irish
She/Her/Hers

Amy Wray Irish grew up near Chicago, received her MFA from the University of Notre Dame, and now resides in the foothills of Colorado. Her recent work can be found in local anthologies like Chiaroscuro (Northern Colorado Writers); national journals like Stone Gathering (Danielle Dufy Publishing); and online journals like Twenty Bellows (twentybellowslit.com). Irish’s third chapbook, Breathing Fire, won the 2020 Fledge Competition and was published by Middle Creek Press in 2021. To read more of her work, go to amywrayirish.com.