Cackling lumber ignites Aires’ nightlight,
Within newspaper lined brick ware fire pit
Charred marshmallows stick atop their maple wood graves,
The sweet, smoky aroma calls out to raccoons and possums
Scurrying around in nearby woods.
Guitar strings pulled taut, laments their fiery death,
A somber requiem for lost s’mores baking to ash
Barefoot soles tap on concrete
Purple painted nails refracts the fire in a hazy glow
Her mirrored fingers plucks a memory encased from years ago,
One, in which her chestnut eyes relive the rhythm
She strums a few chords; the fire crackles and pops echoing each note
Callused palms slide up the baseboard, tone crescendos.
Moon smiles in a waxing crescent
Peeking out from behind departing storm clouds leftover from Ike
As if trying to catch a glimpse of his muse,
Sapphire rays streaks across her cheeks
Fireflies sail around her head riding the autumn nor’ easters
Eventually making landfall on a black sweatshirt shore
She stops, collecting her glowing fans within her palms
And gently places them atop the white plastic chair stationed at her side.
The raging fire dims to a hundred embers,
Her bath robed neighbor yells from a second floor window,
For a minute, maybe two, silence sweeps between the yards
Crickets chirp, warming up the crowd
She smiles and brushes away the night from her hair
Before lobbing the last remaining logs onto the starving fire,
Her fingers stretch along the bridge, arching around the strings
They pluck a note, then a couple chords
Playing along with the awakening flames
She sings of the hours past midnight and the days that soon approach,
While the melody rises with smoke and scorched paper flakes
Disintegrating into dawn’s cerulean paint.
