“We Raised Flames” was published last year in Crossroads III. Thanks Kayli for sharing the story-telling power of poetry!
We Raised Flames
We were masters of sand creations
No cheating with that plastic-bucket-mold crap –
We were original
Handfuls of thick sand mud plopped through our fingers
Rising turrets and twisting spirals composed of hundreds of tiny sand dollops
Decorations of seaweed strands and smooth shells that looked almost purple under water
You showed me how to drink the nectar from honeysuckle
I taught you how to blow bubblegum bubbles before all the sugar dissolved
Huddled around the stone fire pit out back
We raised flames from sticks and embers
S’mores were a bonus but never the objective
We nurtured burning embers
To see their flickering pulses
Red and yellow Morse code
Pioneers in the land of pyromania
Until the night you threw a lighter into the fire
Your mom had to fish it out with a stick
We sat quietly as she yelled about explosions
We promised never again
When the grownups wanted to talk late
And said they’d carry us into the car when it was time to go home
We would lie out on the porch tucked into sleeping bags
Noses almost touching
The only lie I ever told you was on one of our porch-nights
Not even a lie, really
A porch-night fiction
And only because I loved to see your smile
The wooden floorboards creaked as we whispered
Side by side
You said you had always wanted to see someone sleepwalk
Well I always wanted to see your smile
I let you believe I had drifted off
Then I stumbled slowly around the porch
Peered through mostly-closed eyelids
Aimed for the chairs
So you could lunge forward and
Wake me before disaster stuck
I would say thank you
You would describe every detail
Back into our sleeping bag forts
I would count to 60 and our ritual would begin again
Every time you saved me from death-by-chair
Your hands steady on my shoulder
I would open my eyes to your wide eyed
Toothy grin
When we were thirteen, we almost kissed
But one of us started laughing – I can’t remember who –
And laughing seemed like more fun anyway
So we decided not to have another go at it
I don’t think I ever told you about the porch-night fiction
Just let you believe
But there was the one night –
Years after your mom yelled about explosions
We were raising flames from sticks and embers
I pulled out the lighter stashed in my pocket
We threw it in together –
I almost told you then