14 October 2024

Writing circle prompt: fire

 

A poem of fires

 

A poem is a series of brief fires.
The colors of autumn’s maple and aspen trees
condensed into word images.
 
Yellow, red and blue above the match I hold
and growing in the fireplace when wood catches
or in the burner of the gas stove.
 
And beyond all words, the urban fires
jumping from rooftop to rooftop, 
and forest fires leaping tree to tree.
 
The fires of war’s intentional death
burning innocent bodies and souls.
(Is this what Baldwin meant by “The fire next time”?)
 
Wait! 
We light candles against the dark
and for celebrating the miracles of light
and for remembering dead ones.
 
We see the fire of miracles like burning bushes
and other visions, the fireworks
of finding the way.
 
We see the fire of the sun and other stars,
fire impossible to imagine
unless as small and fast as a comet,
 
or reflected off the moon or lake
something that can’t be raked
unlike the gold and red of autumn leaves.
 
Yesterday the sky was afire
with Northern Lights—a marvel
so far south of the magnetic north.
 
Over the aspens and maples, the green and red
of aurora borealis reminds us

of a poem. 

 

                                                          My blog poems are rough drafts.

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© 2024 Susan L. Chast