" The Brunswick Flame "
Fifteen bodies
buried under the new road leading east
from Brunswick that twists
through silver birch where white bark
can cause eyes to strain on warm days.
Concrete, similar to a lid, bares down
over tombs and red brick.
I remember the mortar burnt by a late
October firestorm
A boy
lets a flame lick the string of an oil lamp
and tiptoes downstairs- wide eyes
glimpse shapes in the dark monsters
flicker in corners with long black claws.
Outside by the chipped toilet the chain
grinds. He dashes back to the house
and his bed whilst the lamp stays lit to drive
out ogres and giants as he falls asleep
One more hour
the lamp topples glass breaks into four
smooth pieces- shimmering on the floorboards.
The flame sings along the wood, over the bed
and curtains dancing from room to room.
A new road runs through Brunswick.
Careful along its edge picking the way
in between silver birch trees, I tread wide
of deep buried brick.
© 2004 Lia (E. V. Brooks)
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