We had a bonfire yesterday, at home.
We burned some papers, some twigs,
Some branches drained brittle by the dry air.
We started with paper and some packing material,
Promiscuous things
That gave themselves to the fire at once.
They burned, and burned in a flash,
But the twigs only flirted with the fire,
And the branches, I despaired of them.
I worried that we would never
Get the thing to start.
But it did. Quietly, and without any fuss,
The twigs caught alight,
And then even the branches were smoking,
And suddenly it was a grand blaze.
I wondered why I had been worried at all.
It felt like it was alive, that it would live forever.
It threw off such sparks, so extravagantly,
So recklessly,
Sparks that clawed afterimages into my eyes,
Surpassing the toothless winter sun.
But that passed too. At the height of its glory,
It fell into embers,
Which glowed longer than the fire had burned.