Bonfire Poem by Deborah E Cox

They bought this edge-of Fifteen Mile Pond
to “get away from things, ” swim unencumbered
in green blue pool, explore Black Walnut copse,
trade city-bound encroachments for peace

moving day – unpacking, chaos and lost boxes,
cramped for lack of storage, list of house chores
so long there’s not enough words in the day
to mouth their completion into being

instead of modern-day help, prehistoric genes
kick in –- husband goes hunting in pick-up truck
not meat-laden, carries back skeleton of mason work
hammer precision to set in stone perfect O symmetry

- an anachronism in spite of all else to be done.

At the edge of a black-curtained May night, all
scurrying mice and fireflies dancing behind our backs,
we gather - called by instinct around the stack of
glowing embers, cascading ochre from this hearth

our fellowship, the music of light on hot coals, the
night’s greatest symphony of amity - more deafening
than the cricket song in my right ear and the laugh
of hide-and-seek children who play in the dark

all warm colour, linked arms in tranquility
thanks of grace for this round O of fire
the friendship that feeds its flames.