Carl Sandburg gives us a glimpse of a woman on Michigan Boulevard who now lives alone with a parrot, goldfish, and two white mice. The detail that she once kept “a houseful of girls in kimonos” and had three pushbuttons on the front door hints that she ran a brothel or rooming house. Now her life is quieter, and her thoughts turn to the kinds of love she has seen. A soldier’s or sailor’s love flares hot and quick; an emigrant worker’s love smolders blue with distance; a disappointed young man’s love flickers with jealousy. Then she thinks of a rare love—one in a thousand—that burns clean and leaves only white ash. It suggests a pure, complete passion that ends without mess or regret. The mood is lonely, elegiac, and knowing, as she keeps this thought private from her small companions.
White Ash — Summary
There is a woman on Michigan Boulevard keeps a parrot and goldfish and two white mice. She used to keep a houseful of girls in kimonos and three pushbuttons on the front door. Now she is alone with a parrot and goldfish and two white mice . . . but these are some of her thoughts : The love of a soldier on furlough or a sailor on shore leave burns with a bonfire red and saffron. The love of an emigrant workman whose wife is a thousand miles away burns with a blue smoke. The love of a young man whose sweetheart married an older man for money burns with a sputtering uncertain flame. And there is a love . . . one in a thousand . . ., burns clean and is gone leaving a white ash. . . . And this is a thought she never explains to the parrot and goldfish and two white mice.