One day I will be dead
and it won’t bother anyone.
Family and friends will care
but after they’re gone?
Will my great grandkids
celebrate my work ethic
and my Invisalign smile?
Will they scroll through 100 years
of Instagram posts
to see who I loved
or will I be a fleeting thought
too vague to ignite conversation?
And will my great great grandkids—
forget it. Who thinks about
their great great grandparents?
What they cooked?
How they danced together?
How they sipped their whiskey? Their wine?
These legendary love stories
remain untold after a generation,
too long to write down
and too profound to be recited
with justice.
One day they died
and their lives became stories
we forgot to remember.
I hope they will remember me,
but this is a selfish hope.
Fire turns wood to ash
so a new forest can grow.
I am a mighty oak and a baby fern.
We are the forest
of forgotten wildfires.