"Fireman's Fireworks"
Minutes whirred and time hummed.
We sat on the deck while you strummed
lullabies to turtles. When I joined them,
I could hear the rumble of a train pulling
out of Marrakesh. I plucked lily-pads, wove
flowers in my hair, strung cords around my neck.
I got hurt in a different time zone. A three
pronged hook gnawed my leg. While Judy
got sweeter, I cleaned the cut, practiced
these tunes by heart. You fretted on a fresh scar,
worried about Tetanus and silence.
Fireflies play to the tempo of the music
from the fair. In Wonderland, chrysanthemums
spring high into the air. These hot days are endless.
We row past the lopsided house with the hand-made
Eiffel Tower, tiny white flowers cascading
off metal. Their lips look like the stephanotis I tucked
into my father's tux, the groom and his men
drenched in white.
The fireflies in the field glow until I catch one.
Idiot Wind makes me cry; I sit on a blanket and weep.
Two men hold my hand and cluck.
I play chicken to get to the other's side; lie,
say it's my leg that aches.
Fireworks explode into ash, fireflies land
next to me to slumber in soot. Tomorrow will be
a work day. The seeds that I plant on my husband’s
head will grow horns, need sun and rain, a careful
mixture of nature and neglect.
© 2005 Laurie Byro
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