the great boston fire
It happened when we were walking home
one night from the water, all of us high
(on what else but ourselves, life as it is,
and the sweet company we were in).
We paraded down a brightly lit cobblestone
road of brick buildings I thought were apartment
complexes but were the real deal
colonial vintage Boston.
These brick walls looked too
Fresh & Young to have ever known
those tea partying days.
So we marched down the street with
feelings of entitlement, youth, and maturity.
What is that again? Oh yes, freedom.
We walked with a freedom as though we had
every right to do as we pleased.
And why not?
So the earth tonight was moving quickly
like it had somewhere to go and
the clouds moved above us with a great speed
I contributed to something other than our sticky weed.
No, the clouds were on their way;
they weren’t slowing down.
When I told you this-about these marathon
clouds, “Look, they’re moving so damn fast they’re
almost catching up with that plane!”-You raised
your arm high and pointed out to that
single plane and said it looked like an
ember from a fire
floating above all the smoke.
And it’s true; that is the only thing that
plane could have been. It was an Ember.
We’ll call it the Great Boston Fire!
And though it was very late, it was not dark at all
and the sky was a violent shade of purple.