Fire

On those wild nights

the fire whistle's screaming

from the town hall top

just down the block

sent me to shivering so hard

I squeezed myself

between  my mother, dad

in their warm bed

and shook.

The flour mill across our street

had burned three times,

its heat had cracked the windows

of our house, had peeled the paint,

its sparks had set our roof ablaze —

my father doused it with a garden hose

a dozen times.

So when that whistle blew

I found my mother in the dark,

my father's arms,

and I would shake

until the whole bed

quaked —

and that was all I knew of fire

when I was young.

Today the fire still burns

but what is left of those

who held me tight

has gone; I shake tonight

for less than sirens

shattering the dark

for what so long ago

I never knew

was love.

_____________________________

Grayce Scholt is a retired English professor from Mott College who wrote art reviews for the Flint Journal. Her book of poetry, Bang! Go All the Porch Swings, is available online from Amazon and locally at Pages Bookstore in downtown Flint.