Letter to One’s Elders
by Mark DeCarteret
Rehash what the stars artlessly sold you,
the trees starting into ash.
Lowering yourself again. As another sun,
done testing, settles in.
Thousands are doused unintentionally,
then sent off, dared radiant.
Air, detailed, led out by new owners,
traded-in-on or left for dead.
You should only share this with your sons.
How they show interest that felt useless,
ill-fatedly suffered, now feels healing —
a desire to side with the winners
fused with the most soulful of losses.