Bonfire by the Fifth-Wheel
Chrystal Gale drums on Kipper’s shaved head; rhythm of movement
Sixteen paws, rambunctious to the core of their wild kitten hearts,
dance through the tall tan grasses and into the rutted goat tracks
Hurdling the utility-orange extension chords, sixteen paws thrive
Liam is fostering coals from last season’s flame in a dry soup can
Carefully he introduces them to a nest of pinecones and twigs
We count down: five for the nightingale, four for the gargoyle
We cast ashes of our ancestors as Liam stacks the knurled logs up
Three for the toadstool, two for the lamassu, and one for the fire
The chill air puts on a smokey coat, wrapping us in its long scarfs
Sixteen paws under eight sparkles: cats’ eyes reflect new flame’s light
Liam is shadow casting stories on the fifth-wheel’s off-white exterior
a mythical grandeur toned common gray; medium is his co-captain
Its years of dust, pollution and oxidation weaved into the timeless art
the sprouting of symbol from meaning and gesture from understanding
the contagion of comfort from repetition, a comfort from familiarity
Liam’s inoculations, in lofty tones, sooth the beating hearts to silence
K. Shawn Edgar | Salad Slayer | Tower Dweller | Writer of Words
