Fire Dreams

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Fire Dream

I could see it as I soared over the neighborhood,
arms outstretched, flying skytio and planeless;
the whole block was on fire, hundred foot flames
holding hands in ten different colors, greeting
three battalions of firefighters converging
from all sides.

The smoke was acrid, awakening me
black and gray, tasting the fireplace ash
thick in the back of my throat, my lungs
aching with nuclear sauna heat--

lurching low out of bed, finding
house slippers as I hit the floor,
grabbing the leg of my levis hanging
there on the footboard, hearing the
thunk of my car keys in a front pocket,
squirming fast on my belly
like a soldier in boot camp
with machine guns spitting fire tracers
over his head, elbows pumping frantically,
nightshirt pulled up over my nose,
eyes burning and watering,
no longer guides--

quickly into the hallway, precious yards
from the back door, pushing, crawling,
coughing, seconds more until
the unsnapping of the lock,
the joyous click of the handle turning--

escape to my deck, sitting up and pulling
on my pants, hearing glass break
and cans exploding, ecstatic that my wife
was at her mother’s for the weekend,
and our tomcat was outside on his
nightly adventure, feeling the intense heat
on my back as I stood up, turned
and faced the magma behemoth
that was tearing the juggler out of our home--

lighting up our family room window
like a New Year’s party, flame demons
rushing to every corner, devouring
furniture, curtains, albums, books, and the
knick-knacks of thirty years accumulation,
carrying out the terrible sentencing of random
trauma, the complete destruction of things material--

as the night became alive with colored rotating
lights and sirens, diesel engines throbbing,
air horns blasting, and moving off the deck
to a corner of the yard I began to shiver
with the weight of beginning again.

Glenn Buttkus

November 2010

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