The Burn Pile

In the sloping yard behind our house,
Beyond the woodpile, next to the place we split kindling,
There was a burn pit
Piled high like a lump of garbage memories.
Ash grey, smoldering, soggy
Smelling of rot, of earth
Wasted.
Burning trash was my favorite chore.
I loved to watch things crackle like orange fingers…
Grabbing empty boxes of Ritz Crackers, empty
Cartons of milk, empty cans of soda, empty boxes of…

Flames hide truths like bright spilled paint,
Thick and hot.