Such a Thing as Burnt

On the day we filed for divorce I told nobody.
I went to a poetry reading
and listened to radiant artists transform
heartache and disappointment into rainbows
made from the shredded colors of their interiors.

Driving home I saw the woman from the court
walking her dog on the bike path.
She took the divorce papers with a warm smile.
It was just another day at work for her, 

but a day I will never forget,
just days before our 24th anniversary,
the opal one.
Fire opal, I’d say, 
because what was left to do after he said “I can’t” 
but say “okay” and watch it burn.

Like wildfire smoke on the sun,
I could finally look right at it without hurting my eyes,
the devastation black–quick and final
leaving scorched earth to birth my future.

What grows from the carbon footprint of a charred bond?
Maybe mountain mallow, whose sovereign soul seeds 
can lie dormant for decades before a blaze brings them into bloom. 

As I look at family pictures and the screws he left behind,
I wonder if there is such a thing as burnt
or is fire really a burning bridge from one life to another, 
a mode of transformation that forces you to surrender 
all that you were trying to hold on to
because it got too hard,
like holding your breath,
each second a victory before the failure you know is coming
when all the air rushes out and leaves you empty.

Tao says emptiness is what’s most essential.
The spokes of a wheel radiate in all directions 
      but unite in one hollow hub.
It is on this open space that the wheel depends
to keep rolling on.