The Sound of Fire

Jim Savio

They stand in a line - thirty-seven people in all
At the front, the husband-father looks down and off to his left

His wife’s oldest friend stands stooped-over at the end of the line
Neck craned – she waits for a sign

At the top of the hour, his vigil over
The husband father turns, and his ghost-smile catches her eye.

High on her toes she reaches for the shoulder of the teenage boy ahead of her
Then his hand moves to the shoulder of his married sister

Sister’s falls gentle on the worn coat of the oldest man in the line.
He lifts his wrinkled fingers to the shoulder of his great-niece

And so it goes until at last the youngest brother
moves his hand with three missing fingers to the shoulder of his brother-in-law

Feeling the familiar claw he mines a deep breath,
leans forward, exhales, and pushes the button

The sound of fire is loud in the room

The body of his wife, mother of their children is conveyered into the flames
Wrapped in the shroud she embroidered for the occasion

In a shower of late afternoon light falling from the clerestory windows,
her body is made ash and some of it rushes up the chimney

One with the wind
One with the light
One with the now approaching night

They say goodbye on the street and scatter in the near dark
Though one among them is missing

When something’s lost and something’s gained
Love is in the balance