Letter: A poem

A month ago, I looked to the east

And saw the Gore Range mountains, snow capped,

Tall and jagged, and protecting

Us, if you will.

Today, I look east, just at sunrise,

And see black smoke, pillars of the smoke,

More than a continent and an ocean away.

It can’t be real.

And yet I hear screams from the east,

Screams of a mother lying atop

the cooling body of her 7-year-old.

I turn away, looking for the buds

Of spring in the aspens of our yard.

I turn away.

Tom Burch

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