I dream of rituals
long since passed
To which we brought old photos
or wrote our deepest fears.
In some tiny blaze
or gigantic bonfire
we would burn these bits of tattered paper.
I guess that we imagined
this burning could make the
pain disappear
or the
fear dissipate.
Though this imagining seems
perfectly normal,
its outer workings
were never perfected.
(These days,
I live on beautiful farmland.
As happens on
any homestead
we often have bits of brush,
twigs,
unused or dilapidated lumber,
and prior year’s
Christmas trees
that collect in a pile.
At many junctures
during the warmer seasons,
we talk about inviting the
neighbors over
to enjoy a bonfire.
Like the creatives
we are, we procrastinate
about offering these invitations
until one day
the brush pile becomes
too much to bear.)
Tonight, I look
into the bonfire
I’ve made:
its flickering flare
illuminates
and shades.
Each fiery light
is met in equal measure
by the colors of the night.
Then,
spiraling for a moment,
the raging redness raises
its smoke, spark, and ash
into the sepulcher of the heavens
and sculpts there —
not a cleansing of the old but —
a forging of
what’s yet to be.
~ spontaneously (improvised, unedited) created by Stan Stewart
~ Copyright © 2018 by Stan Stewart and muz4now, inc. All rights reserved.
Thanks to all of my neighbors and friends who created so much inspiration at the actual birthday bonfire!