playing with fire

we all have a relationship with fire.

the fireplace in your parents home.
the blue light
of logs burning.

some idyllic memory
of the family gathered, the dog,
etc.

a mythic Rockwell painting.

the teenage smoke behind the school,
the struck match
held to the cigarette.

the house on fire, the engines,
red
and loud,
the hoses spraying the roof.
the sirens, the sirens.

the barrel in the woods
or on the street with the homeless
gathered,
hands rubbed over
the yellow heat.

the campfire.
the marshmallows on sticks.

the stove, with a pot of water
above
the flames
that swim and lick.

and then the trashcan in the yard
full of leaves
and sticks.

all the memorabilia and pictures
that never
really did exist.
tossed in one by one.

all of it up into the sky.
sweet gray ashes going
bye and bye.