mount saint
when i was a child i sang in a caldera
with my father and mother
sisters and brothers
row row row your boat from a stage of cinders
our voices joining the volcanic chorus
a round of earthen voices
harmonies of shattered stones
a million resounding horns
a million thunderstorms
ravel and weave
a subterranean hymn
sing O! ash and fire O! mount saint
swirling up in a boiling column
a mountain sang
when my parents were young
falling down as a mantle of ash
on my father’s car
drifting a thousand miles south
to rest like snow
on my mother’s lawn
sing O! ash and fire O! mount saint
years later from a butte
i watched a plume of steam
menace the horizon
all glory and trembling
then one morning
continents away
i awoke under a looming peak
to the sting of sulfur
from the plain of fire
sometimes i return to that old cinder cone
with my father and mother
sisters and brothers
and we sit on the slopes
to blow out the sun
singing O! ash and fire O! mount saint