The Innisfree Poetry Journal
by Marc Alan Di Martino
“and years—so many years”
The dragonflies of summer have all vanished.
Now people warm their hands above strange fires
blazing from big green oil drums. There are holes
in the sides. I wonder what made them there.
Neighbors, mostly. Girls lacing up their skates
in packs. The smoke and spark of firesticks
jutting out over the lip, burning, burning.
My parents are somewhere, walking on water
together. My sister is here, her hand in mine
steadying me. Off to the right is where
the man with the Firebird lives, the one
who followed me home. In those apartment buildings,
there. Don’t go there by yourself. Repeat. Don’t
go there . . . my father hoists me and we’re off!
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