SURVIVORS: We Are the Forest & the Fire
A metaphor of movement.
Listen to the poem read by Jo. or read below. This post references incest abuse. If you’re a survivor or supporter seeking resources, head over to Incest AWARE or Sibling Sexual Trauma.
This poem will be published in Beneath the Soil Vol. III e-zine. It has also been offered as the supporting poem for SOCCS 2025 under the title: Survivors, We Are the Forest & the Fire.
A human I love lives in a forest of redwood trees that shoot so far up
That I have to bend my neck backward until it hurts to see their tops.
Waving with the wind, glowing in the sun against the sky blue
And clouds hued with weather and white and gray.
Recently a fire raged through this family. Some trees died.
The homes destroyed. All that remains is the foundation of them.
While others survived. Now devastated, darkened.
The trees’ skins charcoaled gray. Their tops still wave with wind,
But their faces are forever changed.
In a constant state of mourning of
What could have been
If the fire never came.
To my surprise, I find the trees
More beautiful this way.
The gray scars glow
Brighter with the sun.
Glitter and shimmer
In a way they did not do
Before the fire came.
One tree kept its flame
And stayed burning.
Hallowed out
From the inside.
While the rest
Of the fire rested,
This one held
The warmth
In its empty space.
Transforming the
Raging pain of fire
Into light and
Glorious dignity.
So that others
Could remember.
So that they
Had a place
To mourn.
To keep warm
To gather
To grieve.
To share
The gift of
Each other.
To receive
Intimacy.
To witness
New growth
From old memories
Sprout from
The ground
Beneath our feet.
And so I hope this becomes me.
A fire flaming inside the vacancy
Of what was left of my body after my family burnt me.
Now both the forest and the fire: A survivor in community.
I hope that our existence inspires others to transform the histories
That once harmed into presence that blossom and futures that bloom.
That together we become a site to see. A place to be. To remember.
To gather. To grieve. To receive. To burn brightly in glorious dignity.
To ground into the memories and majesty of our bodies today, after the fire came.
As we reach our roots wide to stand taller in the night. To be lights. Burning
With scarred, charcoaled, glittery gray new faces from our lives lived after flame.
Abstract
My friend’s home rests in a redwood grove that survived a fire years ago. I watched the burnt faces of the trees and thought about what it means to exist after incest. A queer identity that permits me to be more them: wobbly, strong, solo, communal, burdened, brilliant, hollow, whole.
Thank you to Donna Jenson of Time to Tell for the writing workshop that birthed this piece. Learn more about Donna and her lifelong commitment to the anti-incest movement below.