We’re doing some writing over at our iAnthology space, and the topic was found poems, using a Shel Silverstein poem as a mentor text. I went in another direction, with a short memory about finding something on the Fourth of July after the explosions have died down.
WHAT WE FOUND AT THE FIREWORKS
After the last smash of gunpowder in the air –
after the screams and whistles died down –
after the crowds dispersed,we went searching for the carcasses of the fireworks
and used our flashlights to find the tattered cardboard remains
on the pavement,
laying about like dead ants in clusters.The cold night air smelled of sulfur
and the bodies were still warm to the touch,
as if the trajectory into the stars was just too much to bear
for such a little rocket.You gently cupped the ones that didn’t work,
imagining the possibilities for failure,
even as I stuffed the tubes of others into my pockets,
remembering the explosions and all that expended energy.
Peace (in what remains),
Kevn
…that smell of sulphur…oh, yeah!
Beautiful, Kevin. I especially loved hearing it in your voice. This is my favorite line:
“as if the trajectory into the stars was just too much to bear
for such a little rocket.”
It makes them seem so dear. Nice work, and thanks for sharing it.
Lynn