Firemakers

or Getting the Backhoe out of the Mud

Today, in shelter from the rain,

wet clothes hanging and slumped around,

wet gloves and boots

not getting dryer in the damp air,

I perceived that I am a firemaker

 I felt the heat my body makes,

its quiet fire within

working the magic of chemicals

with deft precision

I thought about the fire my kind has learned to coax

from tinder bundles, wood and friction

(for which I carry memory

and latent skill)

Then there’s the fire that we have later

turned to big machines, which,

though they now seem to hold a power

of their own,

must still be subject to our mastery of fire

And quick as that, I understood

that we could not be stuck

although the backhoe sat

enmired in mud, its wheels dug in

I knew that we are firemakers

and so have power

to move the things we’ve made from fire,

that with the same intention

and persevering focus

and hard committed work,

we could do it —

and so it was.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 22, 2015