From Ashes To Ashes

From Ashes To Ashes
By Boyd Gutierrez


I awoke to a bright and clear Sunday morning on the 18th of May.
Mom had cooked breakfast, already dressed for church that day.
"It’s your Dad’s birthday," she said. "Let’s celebrate as we pray."
I sat at the table, and holding hands with Mom, Stevie and Faye,
we thanked the good Lord for the blessings He gave us everyday,
hoping Dad would come home safe from work ninety miles away.

We attended the morning mass at St. Mary’s and prayed some more.
Then the earth shook under our feet followed by a thunderous roar.
Father John urged his parishioners to stay calm, only to be ignored
Earthquake! Earthquake! People screamed and rushed out the door.
The sun had disappeared, turned day into night, people fled in horror.
"Oh, my God," an old woman screamed, "it’s the end of the world!"

Mom gathered us quickly as she carried my sister Faye in her arms.
She tried to act bravely; I tried to be calm and not to be too alarmed.
We dashed toward the car, which was hard to find through the dark.
People staggered around, dazed, confused where they had parked.
The sky fell on black Sunday of May, spreading darkness so stark,
a mysterious, dismal, gloomy black sky, completely devoid of light.

Mom drove with knuckles white, headlights failing to show the road.
We crawled through the dark then something whitish fell like snow.
But how could this be? It had never snowed this time of year before.
Suddenly, lightning pierced through the darkness, what a light show!
As lightning sparked, we saw it wasn’t snow falling on the window.
It was ash from the sky! It was raining down from a nearby volcano.

May 18, 1980 was the day when the sky fell in the Pacific Northwest.
A catastrophic eruption in the Ring of Fire they said was the deadliest.
The scientists agreed was the worst in the history of the United States.
Twenty-eight years ago on that day, Dad had suffered a cardiac arrest.
He was driving home from work when Mt. St. Helens blew her crest,
showering ash clouds and debris that caused fifty-seven deaths.

May 18, 1980 was a day my family was supposed to celebrate.
It was Dad’s birthday and Mom had baked a spectacular cake.
Every year was always a surprise; every cake always a favorite.
Today, the family gathers on the mountain to commemorate.
There will be no natal surprise, there will be no birthday cake.
Only to scatter his ashes around Mt. St. Helens’s Spirit Lake.

* * *

(This is the first of a series of poems about Mt. St. Helens.)