Dale's Fire

A Sestina Poem

It was a dreary, harsh day of death.
The sun peeked into the dusty room,
The wafting of the air swooshing in and out to the sky.
I waited on a soft sound: the cackle of a fire
Biting me as I enhaled its deep musk, cupped my hands
To my face and scrunched my nose to tighten my skin.

I had watch from afar the fakeness of Dale’s skin.
They’d pretty'd him up well, welcomed the dead
To admire as they walked past, grazing his wrinkeled hand.
I could have blown it to pieces, that too small of a room
To watch his body soon be blazed with fire
And slowly drift towards the cold sky.

Dale had put his face towards the sky,
Made it shine down his daughters thick skin.
Mom told me it felt like fire
And that if his love was that strong, she could have died
With him. I decided to stay in that room
And let go of my face in my hands.

Just in time to see Mom reading a paper Dad had handed
To her. Made her cheeks rosy and her eyes a blue sky,
Glistening with hope that had lost room
In her heart. He brushed his nose to lightly touch her skin
And they shared a forgetting of death
And for a brief moment I saw the fire.

To keep it close I rushed toward Dale’s side and let the fire
Burn. I gripped onto the handle
Of the box he was in and told a secret of the day death
Came and went. “It was a warm day and a cloudless sky,
A baby deer sat by my side” and I swear I felt the warmth rush through his skin,
Sweeping through that too small room.

All his daughters and friends decided to make room
For my dancing about in the fire.
They didn’t understand as they watched, scrunching their skin.
I told them he left traces in their hands
As long as they had them to hold to the sky
Where he decided to smile at us when he died.

I should have known better than to harden the skin on my hands.
I lost sight of the fire in that gloomy room
When I should have been looking to the sky to smile back at Dale who never died.