Embers of Eden

by Sheila Dougal

EMBERS OF EDEN

Canopy of pink perfume— blanketed

by cotton and fire. We live under

embers of Eden— echoes rejected.

I know, I know this shadow. I wonder.

We march across asphalt, the air now crass.

Dozens slowly trudge through the dim parking lot.

Face down, self-deprived drought caught in glass.

Let him who has an ear stand as he ought.

The flower of his face turned up, breathing

beauty like salts, awake from amnesia

to true love; the warmth of the sun cleaving.

Now hugged and sung into fields of freesia.

There we won’t look through dark glass for home.

Our brother, the King, will remove his outer robe.

SHEILA DOUGAL

Sheila is a blue-collar poet, writer, gardener, soap-maker and nurse raising backyard chickens and goats in the rural low deserts of Arizona with her husband and sons. Her poetry and essays can be found at various print and online publications. You can also find her at SheilaDougal.com, and on Substack @plantedlife.