Reprise of the Fire DwellerA Poem by David Lewis PagetThe
toddler sat in the high chair, And
stared at his tiny hands, He
wondered, where had they come from, And
his name, they said, was Hans, He
seemed to recall another place Where
he’d lived, so long ago, Before
he was part of the human race Though
the words, he didn’t know. His
body felt like an alien It
was hard to make it work, His
legs and his feet were clumsy, and He’d
only just learnt to walk, He
found that his hands could pick up things He
could drop them, or could throw, And
watch the reaction of bigger things When
they’d shout, or tell him ‘No!’ They
both were bigger and stronger But
the biggest one was rough, He’d
lift him out of his high chair, and His
voice was deep and gruff, The
other was soft and caring and Had
fed him at the breast, Would
carry him round and cuddle him But
the voice was shrill, at best. Two
spirits sat on his shoulders that He
didn’t know that he had, One
kept muttering, ‘You be good!’ The
other said, ‘Be bad!’ ‘Don’t
listen to him, he’s always grim,’ Said
the good one on the right, The other had said, ‘Remember me? He’ll
make you feel uptight!’ He
vaguely remembered the darker one From
the place that he’d always been, And
thoughts went fluttering through his mind, Like
scenes in a distant dream, He
knew, as a thrill spilled over him That
the good one made him sad, And
he couldn’t listen to both at once But
the dark one made him glad. He’d
watch as the bigs lit cigarettes And
the room filled up with smoke, The
haze had returned to comfort him Though
once in a while, he’d choke. He’d
stare and stare at the cigarettes Intent
on that tiny glow, For
it lit a spark in his memory And
he suddenly thought, ‘I know!’ One
night while the bigs were fast asleep He
crawled on out of his cot, Went
for the box of matches that He’d
seen them use, a lot. His
tiny fingers had struck a match And
he sat and watched the flame, As
the darker one on his shoulder said, ‘We’re
going to play a game!’ He
struck a match for the curtains, and He
struck a match for the couch, He
then set fire to the tablecloth And
burnt his thumb, said ‘Ouch!’ An
ancient memory stirred within That
would make his face perspire, Caught
in the middle of Dresden once, And
sat in a lake of fire. The
big ones woke, began to choke And
rushed on out to their fate, They
tried to rescue the baby Hans But
for all of them, too late! He
sat and chuckled within the flames Felt
nothing inside his pyre, The
dark one said, ‘So much for games, You’ve
had your play in the fire!’ David
Lewis Paget © 2013 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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