He meant well
When he lit
The Korean
Torch and set
The stove ablaze.
He didn’t realize
That the smoke
Would reveal
Diving light
And stifle
Busy routine.
It was not
His fault but
The electric
Candlelight
Failed at that
Moment.
Outside,
A man bathed
In light
High in the air
Clipped with
Needle noses
To tighten
Something
That didn’t
Need fixing.
Crooked candles
Sat in
Ash trays to
Light the dusk
As the haze
Fell out
Of sight.
The next
Morning
A familiar
Silence
Returned to
Them.
All that
Remained
Of three
Month’s past
Was the smell
Of last night’s
Fire.
Something had
Changed yet
Nothing had
Changed.
In spite of all
Of this,
The son decided
To ride
His bike
Anyway.
He was
No longer
Allowed
To start
The fires.
Composed 08/12/2012
Author’s Note: This is the last of the 50 odd-something poems I wrote during my Preservice Training experience. It’s hard to believe that it’s all up here, and re-reading all of them every week before posting really brought back some interesting memories. Right before I left, my host brother tried his hand at making a fire in our wooden house, as the temperatures were beginning to drop. The poor guy tried very hard at everything he did, but had a great deal of difficulty figuring things out. He was also the family representative for all Peace Corps events. He was the only one of my host family who came to my swearing in. I didn’t really have the cushy, love-filled relationship with my host family that you tend to hear about from most volunteers. I’m not sure if that came out in the poems. Either way, it’s been over a year since I’ve started posting here, and well over a year since PST ended. My, how time flies!
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