Originally published in the now defunct journal 13 Chairs

The Fireweed Dies

a slow death in the dwindling Alaskan sun

surrounded by its closest family of weeds.

As the daylight shortens

and the August rain comes

the fireweed, once admired for its magenta beauty,

its petals that set the roadside aglow,

fades, growing white with age.

Its fragile cotton  sways in the wind

until the rains come and its days are labored

as life draws to a close.

In its last breath, the final puff leaves its lips

and takes flight with a gust of wind,

before falling to the earth and decay,

leaving its skeletal stalks to survive

the fall solstice only to be buried in the winter snow.