Friday, September 14, 2012

Fire Fighter

A spark can start anywhere
   the kitchen
      or bathroom
         or on the patio steps

A simple spark
   ignited by whim
       or simply tired eyes

The spark
quickly engulfs the walls
wrangles on the carpet
I hear the crinkling of flames
echo in the vents

I breathe in

Knowing I will burn my hands
  but must find a way
    to extinguish the fire
       before it blackens the woodwork
       before we cannot scrub
the smoke stains from our fingernails

My hands become hot
holding this spark
  this fire
the heat runs deeper than my skin

The smoke calls forth tears
but then
     the oxygen is pulled from the room
     from the spark in my hand

and little arms wrap around my neck
a little head snuggles into my shoulder
we walk out of the house
Fire fighter and daughter

Sunday, September 2, 2012

Dancing Flowers

It is a late summer Sunday morning
   cool breeze
   warm sun

My youngest daughters
Play on the back patio
    in their PJs
    pink and green flash across the patio door

I join them
   sitting on the steps with a cup of coffee

“Look at this, Daddy”
    a rock
    a blade of grass
    in their hands

“Watch this, Daddy”
    as they run
    as they jump
    in the grass

They begin to dance
The sun shines into my eyes
I have to squint to see them
   but I swear
   if flowers could move
      they would dance like my daughters