All Forms Will Have an End

Fire meadow at night

991 homes were burned into oblivion

On Thursday, December 30th, 2021.

The fire did not discriminate.

If the houses were beautifully kept

Or cluttered and in need of cleaning,

If the people inside were satisfied or sad,

Aching or afraid,

If the objects inside were artistic and treasured

Or used in a perfunctory way,

The fire simply destroyed them all.

The wind was relentless, gusting up to 115 mph.

That morning, I saw my neighbor’s 

Garbage disappear in an instant

Into the sky.

It’s unsettling, even inside, to hear the wind

In such a restless, violent state.

We are powerless against such forces.

We know all forms will have an end.

But how can the disappearance

Be so quick and thorough?

When my mom died,

It seemed so heartless that her things

Outlasted her.

She gathered and cared for

Beautiful things

Like her mother before her.

I don’t think she knew,

I don’t think I knew,

That, at the end,

She was all I wanted.

—Dawn Kimble

Dawn Kimble lives in Boulder, and is enjoying her exploration of writing poetry. 

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