Bonnie Manion Poem After the Storm

After every storm
I walk the property,
surveying for tree
damage. Hitching
the riding mower
to a cart, I load up
craggy walnut limbs,
leafy branches of
pin oak, soft brushes
of pine, moving them
to a stack at the back
of our country lot. Add
the occasional woven
nest lined with birdsilk.

All spring and summer
the pile grows higher until
one crisp day in October
I gather our grandchildren
as Grandpa starts the bonfire
by throwing out a bottle
of gasoline, the fireball
lighting up the cold night
to a cacophony of screaming,
fear and delight, imaginary
gremlins and dragons hissing
and writhing in the glaring firelight.

first published in Bellowing Ark

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