The Sky Was Bluer Then, and Smoke More White

by Michelle Davidson Argyle

When my grandfather burned the leaves each late October, he made it a ritual, standing near the pyramid of brittle reds and browns, pitchfork in one hand, cold air in another, wool sweater bunched in creases around his arms and waist like the wrinkles on his forehead, like smoke folded in the sky. He didn’t like to stand alone.

Wear these gloves when you

go help your grandfather

I used to help him when I was your age.

Standing near his giant frame,

myself only four feet tall—

Grandpa’s hand on my back,

no longer filled with cold,

smoothing my hair around my shoulders

His voice deep and warm,

his words constant like fire making smoke.

My grandfather drank coffee in the mornings and sang me songs afterward, his breath rich with hazelnut and cream. When he burned the leaves, he told me stories of shirtless Indians, red under the of sun, dancing around their own fires in prayer. The sky was bluer then, and smoke more white. When it rose to the sky in spiraling columns, it carried words of prayers on wings so small they only looked like smoke.

Come in, get warm

I used to stand out there in the snow,

those leaves burning charcoal-hot and hissing.

Watching smoke lift to gods

like steam rising to Grandpa’s face,

surrounded by prayers when he drinks coffee,

Listening to flames lick red,

holding this image of burning season

with images of him commanding fire.

When the apples grew ripe on the tree near my bedroom window, my grandfather hoisted me onto his shoulders so I could reach the highest ones. If some were rotten, we threw them in the pyramid of leaves for burning. They were bright points of green in the fire, and their waxy skin spit madly when it grew hot with flame. My grandfather laughed at the spitting and told me it was their song. He told me if they could, they would dance.

[Michelle writes, "This piece has been published nationally. I don't know if it's prose or poetry--more poetry really. It was published in Scribendi 2002 (the creative writing journal of the University of New Mexico). It is currently my first and only national publication. All other publications have been in Touchstones, UVSC's creative writing journal."]