What the Flame Knows

poetry

Photo by Marek Piwnicki on Unsplash

What the Flame Knows

She knows I’d clear the driveway,
chop the wood, build a fire for her
though I’m the laziest man in the world.
She knows the mystery of fire 
and what I’m good for.

The world runs like a thoroughbred 
with blinders burning down a track 
with ads and promises of thrills 
around curves and cliffs with ravines 
that tug on lungs and capillaries.

The kids go from 1 to 60 in seconds, 
changes happen in the night when you
can’t see them, your own ones become 
less and less present, the words crumple

into trash bins when you try to tell them,
essential truths are now in the first person, 
the obituaries all-too personal, something
beyond your control demands attention.

“Come sit by the fire!” she says.  
Take your mind’s shoes off.  Leave 
your tongue at the door.  Shhhh.”

She knows I do it for her.
I know she does it for me.
We know that together in silence 
with the flame as our only witness 
we make the world slow down.