In the East

It's the best time, you said.
You'll see.

In the desert, I thought.
It's nothing special -
a little less hot,
the sage fades a bit more,
the creosote catches more dust.

Lizards stay out
a little later in the morning
and the tiny, fingernail leaves
of the ocotillo yellow and drop.

Hmmmm... I said.

So this is autumn
in the east, I said
in the ninth month.

Green leaves edged gold
and I watched through days...

A forest fire burned 
outside my windows.
I know someone tossed in
a fistful of chemicals
to make it burn like that.
Copper chloride to
make a green fire base
blaze up through to yellow.

As time edged to the tenth,
tiny sprinkles of
calcium, lithium and strontium
sparked the borders of the fire
with orange, red and crimson
and soon the sprinkles grew.
A heavy downpour
as the leaves burst to full flame.

The forest writhed with colors,
wind whipped it to a slow-motion frenzy.
Sparks flew up and out,
tumbling lazily down
before they dulled in the shadow.

And as the eleventh came
the leaves finally loosed.
Coals glowing on the forest floor 
turning to ash or dust.
The bared branches above, 
browned - seemingly scorched.

The pyrotechnic feast over.

But tonight,
under the streetlight
I looked up into an all-but-bare tree.

Small golden-yellow candle-flames
shivered.
One-by-one they blew out,
extinguished by the wind.

You're right, I said.
It's the best.


Kathleen Hover
11/08/01