dirt on the welcome mat

Tag Archives: fire

The things we burn to keep warm
Are prettiest

Treasures half-consumed
By the stuff of another world.

The second of offering,
By dark ash
and smoke,

Is our finest-
We feed
The unfinished
To purity and desire.

Hear the little fires pop
And sizzle on pale autumn skin?
Marshmallow roasts and hay rides
Bump down sweatered arms
As scary stories begin
To wind-whisper shivers into sweat
And bring breath to a boil.
Faces glisten
Apple-bobbing wet
As scarecrow hands and feet
Recoil- then reach for the breeze
Far from patched overalls,
The thick uncomfortable layers,
That fickle fashion of fall.

We love
to be reminded
of the enemies we’ve killed
so walls are filled
with trophies
and crudely scratched out
that certify each victory,
we frame what we call art.

mostly still confined,
is scented, colored,
and circled with glass,
mischievous children
and their parents
snuff out wicks with fingertips
or blow away numbered flames
on birthdays.

is where
we’re comfortable,
hunched over and grunting,
we make our way
each night
to the same hole
to neither see
nor think.

   Moccasin feet tap

                        Toe, heel.

    Tasseled, painted, Shuffling,

                        Circle the

                 Towering fire,

                            Eyes tracking

                   smoke spirals

            Into the sky.

                   Souls feel

                  The drum beat,

  Rumbling like distant herds,

                  Sounds as flat

                             As the river rocks.