Jessica
At the Last Bonfire of Summer
This is what consumes us: collecting
enough kindling and tinder
to feed the flames. Together, we
gather the wood into stacks, cackle
and chatter as the sun sinks
past the willows. Tonight, we watch
bats stumble and arc over the lake, watch
sparks skitter to the tips of low hanging branches.
We gossip as orange blue flames
lick the wood bare and leave behind
only embers and black ash. After a while,
all that is left is that which is too green
and will not break or burn.
***
Well, I made it through day two of the poetry mini-challenge hosted by Jill and Carolee over at Read Write Poem. Only three more to go!
Last night, we went to a friend’s house for a bonfire and pre-Labor Day party. I spent most of the party trying to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations, since I knew I had a poem to write. Inspiration wasn’t hitting me and I almost gave up. Then towards the end of the night, Aaron supplied the line that inspired this poem.
My husband, always the guy that prefers having a job to hanging out aimlessly, put himself in charge of tending the bonfire throughout the night. (In the picture, that’s him in the background adding another stick to the fire.) After a while, he ran out of the small sticks and brush that he was supposed to clear, so he sat down for a bit. When the host came over to ask about his progress, he said to him, “All that’s left is the stuff that’s too green to break or burn.” After I heard that, I whipped out my phone and started typing bits of this poem into my notes for later.
