Bonfire
"I love rabbits,' you're supposed to say
around a bonfire when wind blows smoke
in your face. Admit it—you love rabbits—
and the air, previously unaware
of your existence, relents and lets rise
the kind sting, absorbing, acidic
to the slightly alkaline glaze of your eyes.
The wind that retreats will return
and things could get crazy: that's when
you repeat it, over and over until
the great breath defers to this
old trick. A good fire, we say,
and skies start to rain water's quiet.
It blossoms hazy, the smoke hit with what
should feel like grace, and the wood
yelps a little, burns all the more
when heaven's heel tries to put it out.
Come back and go away again.
I love rabbits, I love rabbits, I love rabbits.
Copyright Credit: Katie Hartsock, "Bonfire" from Bed of Impatiens. Copyright © 2016 by Katie Hartsock. Reprinted by permission of Able Muse Press.
Source: Bed of Impatiens (Able Muse Press)