Let It Burn

I really loved the poem I wrote for May. I titled it Let It Burn. I don’t love it in the same way I love some of my other poems; it doesn’t necessarily feel lyrically profound, but I love it because it summarizes a really important time for me—a life experience I couldn’t wait to be through. I would always say, “I can’t wait until this time of my life feels really far away,” and now it doesn’t feel far away, but it does feel every bit worth the price of all the pain.

Our first summer in this house, both Will and I were gardening for the first time in our lives. That summer, we harvested buckets and buckets of tomatoes, plums, squash, and marigolds. It was stunning. Standing in that garden, I was enchanted and amazed, but simultaneously, our personal lives were up in flames. Heartache was piercing as Will and I navigated the early days of our separation, family relationships were fracturing left and right, and loneliness was palpable.

That summer, the garden was teaching me all about the importance of letting things rot. I learned that to achieve a beautiful bloom, plants need composted waste to feed them. If you allow rotten matter to sit in the sun for hours, weeks, even months, full of stench and slime, it will slowly begin morphing into the richest soil. With compost mixed into the garden beds, our flower petals became brighter, stems grew as thick as my pinky, and the tomatoes turned a brilliant, delicious red. Without it, the garden would still grow, but with less luster.

Now, two years out from what felt like burning my life down, I feel like I am a flower in the richest soil. What is meant for me finds me without all the striving. Creativity moves through me like a river reaching the ocean. The reflection I see in the mirror feels more beautiful than ever.

In that garden I came to understand that letting my life burn would one day allow me to bloom. This is my poem, Let It Burn:

“I lit it all on fire
and then danced around the flames.
Oh no, don’t burn it down, they cried.
While I was clearing a new way.
The garden of my life
burned to a pile of ash.
Turns out that’s great for soil, though,
it almost makes me laugh.
So when you compliment the flowers
that have grown up to my waist,
sit and stay a while; I have to tell you what I paid.
It only cost me everything;
nothing left unscathed.
To find out what was meant for me,
it first went up in flames.”