FIREWORK

In memory of Jack D. Hoy, veteran of Dunkirk, El Alamein and Sicily and beloved grandfather.

 

Spurts of light scribble

Illegible rebellions

Across the November sky,

And upturned faces glow

In innocent rapture,

Cheer at every crackling pulse,

Each juddering percussion.

Inside, the happy cannonade

Had lit the long fuse,

Lying dormant in rows

Of spuds and onions,

Confused by children’s children

And the summer scent of roses,

Now hissing history,

Driving him deeper

Into buried foxholes.

The air drew tight

And hauled him back

To men and metal bursting

Like soft, ripe fruit,

Burning into blood oases,

Cratered fear and cries

Of pain and death and loss.

The women found him,

Curled upon the kitchen floor,

Scorched by the bonfire

Of his youth

Gently, they brought him back,

Back to us;

Soothing him into his shape,

That lovely man.

 


John Golding

January 2025


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