Dancing by the Fire

 

If it would only help,
I would pledge myself
to salvation, that fire-hydrant

where leaks a medicinal milk.
I would lead bell-ringers
through autumn hills

to rehearse for the day
when death relinquishes us.
From country to country

I would carry an egg
blessed with the ability
to cure any despairing child

who kissed its cerulean shell.
I would burn a parachute
two feet from a glacier

and dance in the winds
created by that very fire.
O how I would dance!

Snow might begin to fall,
flakes melting on the ripcord,
but that wouldn’t stop me.

I would hang small clocks
from pine boughs and place
a blue penny on each one.

Alas, there’s so little time,
for the world has become
an apple mummifying itself.

 

 

 

 

Cliff Saunders has an MFA in Creative Writing from The University of Arizona. His poems have appeared recently in Serving House Journal, Five 2 One, Avatar Review, Poetry Pacific, and Whale Road Review. He lives in Myrtle Beach, where he works as a freelance writer.