the barrel of fire

the gathering of
wood, dead branches,
sticks, and sleeves
of dry paper
all tossed into the barrel
by his children,
your father, blue eyed
and uniformed, home on leave,
unangry for the moment. he
would drop a match
into the cylinder
of leaves, sending flames
into the air.
you can smell it burning
now if you close your eyes,
feel the shimmer of heat
off the metal can
as you place your hands
as close to it
and him as possible.