SMOKING CEREMONY
You call me arsonist, mad firefly:
our photos curl and crackle in the sink.
Those years together burn—smoke thick with sighs.
I watch the tendrils dance to cleanse the sky
which colours now in hues of rose and pink.
Call me artist—my madness paints goodbye
in letters on this canvas, nearly dry.
Make no mistake: this is forever-ink.
The years are burned, the smoke has choked our sighs.
The letters starburst into butterflies,
and here’s a toast to which we both can drink:
from arson’s match, we made two fireflies—
these children smelted from our mouths and eyes;
our love left bubbles as we watched it sink,
but years have burst into a thousand sighs.
There’s comfort as the seasons prophesize—
the vow of fall: to bloom again in spring.
No arsonist, that madness burnt me dry,
this smoke of years in flames to bless our sighs.
—from Prompt Poem of the Month
October 2024
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Prompt: Write a villanelle that mentions your favorite season. Make each refrain slightly different. Note from the series editor, Katie Dozier: “This villanelle burns through turns of phrases with such elegance that we feel like we’re watching a chimney on a cold winter’s day. Hemat lights up the possibilities of language, showing us how a match struck in a slightly different way can entirely change the meaning of a line. The subtlety of ‘hues of rose and pink’ further highlights that distinction—as the two colors appear to be synonyms but their connotations beg to differ. With its brilliant twist from ‘arsonist’ to ‘artist,’ this poem will glow in our minds for many years to come.”
