“Wildfire”

On By Mike U.In Poetry

“Wildfire”
© 2025 by Michael L. Utley

nothing in life occurs
as it does in the
lyrics of songs
it’s all fantasy
all make-believe
carefully orchestrated
a plastic tableau
displayed behind
a plate glass window
look but don’t touch
lest the illusion shatter

her eyes were still open
when I entered the room
her body slowly
giving up its heat
the world had gone silent
save for my father’s
ragged exhalations
a blasted look
in his eyes
panic
dread
the weight of
heaven and hell
threatening to
crush him

there are protocols
for this sort of thing
my mind mumbled dully
lists upon lists
procedures to follow
and don’t skip anything
lest the facade crumble
lest all of creation
come to an end

I watched my hand
touch her wrist
warmth but nothing else
and a door in my mind
swung soundlessly
irrevocably shut
a box checked
I felt my hand
squeeze hers
no response
another box
another check mark
a window in my mind
battened
boarded up
permanently
and her eyes
dazed
tired
confused
staring into her
own private eternity
I tried to brush them
closed
like some celluloid hero
like someone who’s in charge
but they remained exposed
stubbornly resisting
my mind sputtered
clicked
observed
registered
a checkbox left empty
with only one remaining

I pulled the sheet over
my mother’s face
the final act
the list complete
my duty accomplished
my fate sealed

and my mind collapsed

I stood at my
bedroom window
as a misting rain
enfolded the earth
in a hushed dirge
a six a.m. requiem
an epilogue
to a life betrayed
a life cheated
my mother deserved
so much better
and the world
refused to move
its gears stripped
its dynamo fried
as the dawn
held its breath

the ghosts arrived
strangers in
bleak uniforms
muffled voices
latex gloves
clipboards
a gurney
uncanny inhabitants
of some other dimension
performing their
own obscure rituals
drifting room to room
in and out
covert thieves
stealing my mother

and still the rain fell

in my mind
a mantra arose
unbidden
urgent
inexorable
straining against
my temples
my eyeballs
my ears

my mother is dead

over
and over
and over

listen closely
the universe said
listen as you’ve
never listened before
because your life
your sanity
depend upon
this
one
thing
acceptance
now
or risk losing
yourself
forever

the words
pooled
eddied
in my head
swam like
mystical koi
gliding
in arcane murk
and I knelt
at water’s edge
gazing into this
saturnine mere
where my reflection died
and hope dissolved
and I drank
from cupped hands
and choked on
the bitter draught
of reality

and still the rain fell

there are woods
we dare not enter
treelines with teeth
green shadows
with poisonous
beckoning tendrils
restless copses of
voiceless supplication
leading us astray
from the path
numbness
timelessness
and nameless
plutonian pits
of despair
and despite
foreboding warnings
despite all that
screamed
to the contrary
I fled into this
grove of oblivion
where the darkness
promised succor
but instead
stripped me naked
gutted me
flung my entrails
among noxious thickets
and abandoned me
in a clearing
beneath an
eternally
moonless night
eldritch stars overhead
representing
obscene unknown
constellations
another place
another cosmos
another time

eyeless
voiceless
nothing left
of me
but my ears
damned by
deafness
weak
useless
my mother’s voice
no longer audible
her frequency
terminated
a static hum
where her
essence
should be
but I listened
anyway
strained to discern
her closing thoughts
her last whisper
her soul departing
but the only
sounds I heard
were the howl
of white noise
and the
wretched screech
of infinity

another mantra arose
this time a song
from years before
my mind a
musician’s mind
an artist’s mind
always seeking
the flow
the deep
slow currents
the steady stasis
of movement
the only balm
for my soul
a song of death
of sorrow
of loss
of seeking that
which can
never be found

my mother
lost in a June blizzard
chasing Wildfire

and still the rain fell

the sky cried
in my stead
my own tears
locked away
deep inside
far beyond my own
pathetic reach
the incense of
petrichor
and wet sage
lingering
settling upon
my skin
a patina of
unexpected
serenity
a cocoon
of protection
against a
reckless
arbitrary
God
an indifferent
heaven
the senselessness
of it all

weeks passed
but the song remained
and I clung to it
with all my might
I grabbed its reins
dug in my spurs
and rode it out
for all it was worth
for only it could save me
only it could deliver me
from the blackness
of that forest of torment

I said good-bye
to my mother on a
sweltering June day
my broken heart
buried with her
the burden
of her absence
carried with me
for a decade now
I kissed her forehead
gave her my parting gifts
three guitar picks
I love you, Mom
inscribed on each

and asked her
to wait for me

and when the
early snow falls
I shall chase
Wildfire
too

(Author’s note: This poem is inspired by “Wildfire,” a song by Michael Martin Murphey that helped me deal with my mother’s death in June 2015.)

49 thoughts on ““Wildfire””

  1. The format made this extra compelling – it felt very alive. Beautiful imagery.

    Thank you for sharing Mike.

    The times we read “I blinked and many years passed” by others surely means the Wildfire feels far, yet may be ever near. My condolences for this period of separation from her.

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    1. Thanks so much. The song has been playing in a constant loop in my head for about a week or so now, and I’m sure it has to do with the approaching ten-year anniversary of my mom’s death. Grief is incredibly complicated sometimes, especially in a severely dysfunctional family. My mom deserved so much better than what she was given in life. My source of solace is that I know she’s no longer in pain, either physical or emotional.

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    1. Thank you, Liz. I don’t think we ever really get over things. We get detoured by them onto a different path and learn to live with them if we’re lucky. I’m still learning this after ten years without my mom.

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  6. “There are moments which mark your life. Moments when you realize nothing will ever be the same and time is divided into two parts – before this, and after this.”
    “Fallen”
    ILOVEMYLSI.COM

    Beautiful and evocative Mike . As many have said the loss never leaves. ♥️

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    1. Thanks so much, Michelle. Yes, we never get over it. We carry it with us forever in one way or another. If we’re fortunate, we find a way to make peace with the loss so it no longer burdens us so much as we travel along our path.

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  8. Lovely, Mike. So intimate. It was 30 years ago for me (AND somehow still fresh, down to the very humidity of that unreadable day). Still, my consolations are many — and growing, in this post-murderous-OJ time of Trump. She would come back to me, if she could, but no one would wish her here.🌷

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    1. Thanks so much, Carol. Those memories seem to crystalize and they never fade, do they? I can still smell the rain that kept falling throughout that day. It’s a door that leads immediately to the past, like a wormhole–one step and we’re right back there, experiencing everything as it’s happening. And I agree with you–as much as I’d like to have my mom back, I wouldn’t want her to be here to see what’s happened to our country and our world. It would kill her all over again. She endured enough pain already in her 75 years (and her 52 horrendous years of marriage to my dad).

      Thanks again, my friend. Much respect to you, and my condolences for your mother.

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    1. Thanks, Robbie. I’m still working through some of this stuff. I suppose we all do this, even years after losing someone. Death is such an abrupt form of closure, but it’s still incredibly difficult to handle, particularly when it’s someone so close to us. Grief has no expiration date, I suppose, but hopefully there comes a time when our warm memories balance the sorrow, and we can begin to smile again whenever we remember those who have gone on ahead of us.

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  10. Each word deepens the understanding, the scene crisp as a movie I g the screen of a moment to moment encounter with death and the heartache so artfully delivered and felt at the core of our grief and longing. My prayers and heart are with you as you approach your moms 10 years gone. She will remain forever in your heart and soul and proudly ushers in your words of remembrance and love of you as well! 💓💓💓

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    1. Kindest thanks, Cindy. This was a tough one to write, but I needed to revisit that time and try to put some order to it through writing. I’d never written in depth about my mom’s death aside from emails to a couple of friends. Although I tried to prepare myself for this inevitability, is that actually possible? No matter how we brace ourselves, when it happens it’s still a devastating shock and it floors us. I hope that by sharing some intimate details of my own struggle that day, perhaps other people who have similar experiences will know they’re not alone in their grief. Ten years is like the blink of an eye, you know? We never get over things like this; they alter who we are, and I think the best we can hope for is that we find a way to carry these events with us in a way that doesn’t tear us apart. It takes time, but man, those scars will remain.

      I appreciate your kindness and knowledge, my friend. I appreciate your light.

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      1. You’re most welcome, Mike and it’s your courage and bravery that keep those scars lessoning even though they only soften with time with the work needed physically and emotionally. Grief takes a life of it’s own and it’s always good to know others have walked the path for sure.
        It’s always my pleasure to support your great work and tender heart you share honestly and rawly! 💓

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  11. After reading this I had to sit back, close my eyes and breathe and let the emotions flow out of me, it took me back to when my dad died an emotional and devasting time for me. When what you write has this affect on someone you should know you did good

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    1. Thank you, Joanne. It’s been nearly ten years now and I’m still trying to work through this, trying to figure out some things. I’ve been emotionally numb for so long, and I needed to revisit this period and look at it through fresh eyes. During those chaotic days surrounding my mom’s death, it felt like I was going through an out-of-body experience in the sense that I couldn’t feel anything. It wasn’t denial, but just more like the emotional wind had been knocked out of me. I took to walking every day, long walks on the farm where I’d run things through my mind over and over, analyzing everything, trying to make sense out of something that was senseless. I had no one to talk to about any of this. To make matters worse, my girlfriend at the time had broken up with me two weeks after my mom’s funeral, so that just added to the numbness.

      Death is the ultimate form of closure, but it’s such a harsh thing to try to comprehend. I was afraid that if I didn’t start accepting this immediately, it would haunt me forever. That song that played constantly in my mind for several weeks was a soothing balm that kept me together. It’s so strange. I honestly don’t think I’d be here now without that song.

      Thank you so much for your kind words, and I’m so sorry for your own loss, my friend.

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      1. When my dad died in 2019 a fog formed around me, I went about my daily life in this fog and after nearly two years it started to lift then mum died. Dad died on the 21 April 2019 and mum passed on the 12 April 2021. Following mums death the fog got heavier and lasted till December 2024. Although I still have days when I feel like I am going through the motions.

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    2. My parents died two years apart, too (my mom in 2015, my dad in 2017). My mom’s death was expected (she had so many medical issues) but traumatic; my dad’s death meant nothing to me as he was such a monster for so long. It’s just so strange when I realize I have no parents or grandparents left. It’s part of life, if we live long enough, but every passing is life-altering in some way.

      Thank you for sharing, my friend. I know it difficult. Just know you’re not alone. 🙏

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    1. Thank you, Annette. Sharing from the heart helps me realize I’m still human, I suppose. Much of the time I feel like an emotional icicle. Thank goodness for poetry. It allows me to feel again. And thank goodness for our WP community, too. You’re very kind, my friend.

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    1. Thanks so much, Lauren. You’re more brave than I am–I don’t think I could read this one aloud without needing to stop several times along the way. Still working through some stuff, you know? I appreciate your incredible kindness, my friend. It means a lot to me.

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  16. Mike, my heart goes out to you, I’m so sorry! Losing a parent, especially your mom, is devastating. Your poetry is so powerful, full of the emotion and confusion and strong imagery. You invited is into your story, thank you.
    I lost my mom in 2001. I was blessed to be with her when she passed. We will always carry the losses with us and also the memories. It’s part of who we are now. Blessings, dear friend!

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    1. Thanks so much, Peggy. Anniversaries such as this get a person thinking, you know? Even though my mom’s death was tragic, I know she’s no longer in pain, and that’s a comfort to me. I like to picture her in a big green garden where the sun always shines and she has no fear of anything or anyone anymore. She deserves her peace and rest now, for sure. Thanks for your kindness, my friend. My condolences for the loss of your mom.

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    2. It seems your mom was spared the horror of 9/11. As much as I miss my mom, I wouldn’t want her to experience what’s happening in our country right now. She’d end up losing everything, just like I’m likely to do, because she relied on Social Security and Medicare, too. In a strange way, I consider it a blessing that she doesn’t have to go through all of this, you know? That period must have been absolutely awful for all of you. I’m sorry, Peggy. 🙏

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  17. You’re right, Mike, my mom passed the evening before at home and because she was in hospice they came and took care of a lot of the details for us (my sister and I were with her). We were up early the next day cleaning and taking care of arrangements, trying to stay busy when my husband called me and told us to turn on the tv. I’m glad my mom missed it. Small blessings.

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  19. Dearest Mike, although this is a sad piece, which is heart wrenching to read. I appreciate you sharing your feelings. I know when I lost both my parents I had so many sensations of loss, heartbreak, regret, and sadness and never enclosure.

    I think this is another one of my favorite pieces probably because I lost both my parents to suicide and I know that your mother was not a suicide, but there were still so many things that you could not say probably to her as she was very sick.

    I can only imagine the deep loss that you felt when she passed on. I feel very strongly that your mother loved you greatly Mike and that she hated what you had to go through and as you know, I think we’ve talked about this before back in the days just like with my family, women felt stuck and often stayed because they felt it was the best thing they could do for their children. We will do just about anything to protect our children, and I believe with all my heart that she did the best she could.

    This is a beautifully written memorial of that day. It’s sad, but I appreciate you speaking your truth, and I felt every word. I feel honored to read your poetry because I know the honesty that you put within it which can’t be easy for you to relive that I know it’s what it’s like for me.

    We are traveling right now again I’m having test again and that’s why you haven’t heard from me, but I am sending you my love and prayers always as is Scott.

    Mike I like this new style you’re doing. Big hugs, love, Joni ❤️🙏❤️

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  20. I’m late here, Mike, but so glad I came. The form of this one pulled me step-by-step through the experience with you and it was so heartbreaking. The loss of our mothers is a profound experience even in the best of circumstances. Thank you for sharing this powerful poem. I can tell that you miss her terribly.

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  21. Yes… I feel your pain.

    I remember the humming void when my mum died. TheZombie days.The nights fraught with ill dreams.

    Mortality investigations, and creations. I made art in the void.

    My condolences, Mike! You wrote a strong poem, and I feel you.

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  22. It’s a heartbreaking poem. A couple of lines in the beginning immediately put me in the room with my sister when I went to view her body. And I read the rest of the poem in that emotional space. I had my brothers next to me. In many ways, it was the last time the of us were together with our sister. And the last time the 7 of us were together.
    That grief…that memory never fades, Mike.
    This is one of your most powerful poems I have read, my friend.

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