Fire pit on Flanders Rd.

The fire flung up cinders

sparkling into the branches

of the Black walnut tree.

The smoke and heat displaced

the cool air of the night until we could

feel it only at our backs.

The circle of us was light with laughter

in the circle around the flames;

beneath the black walnut tree,

and the shaking of the leaves

in the summer wind,

we laughed

in the flickering light. 

When we

were young,

we hid in the wind,

we ran through dark backyards

and hurled young limber bodies

over fences.

I felt freer then 

from the weight of things.

Life was so much lighter.

I could throw myself into everything.

I could pretend as though i was the night, or the wind,

or the sky, or the cinders floating up between the branches.

If only i could circle back and re-live those moments;

if only i could still feel the sparks rising on the wind, or breath

the cinders and smoke pretend cigarettes 

around those warm flames,

i might feel a little lighter again.

One summer I will build a fire-pit.

One summer one summer,

I will build a camp fire  

and climb some fences

one summer 

before i have become too old

and too heavy--too heavy

and too old.

Reviews

[Gandré]

I really like, how you write from experience. It sounds very natural and it is flowing nicely, I especially like the idea of the walnut tree ( my childhood... memories). My favorite was the 4th stanza, this really were wonderful metaphors. I enjoyed this a lot.

[jenniewren (J.W. Bouwma..]

wow. such a profoundly gorgeous write. the singsongy repetition peppered throughout give such a comforting "midnight firetale" tone, enhancing the meat of your write. have you ever read dandelion wine by ray bradbury? something of this reminded me of that. maybe the boyish nostalgia, so different from my tomboy, yet stillfemale perspective. love your lyricism

[Ed Hart]

a good story, well told...and, surely you have gone on to other fires, my friend...