Inferno

Submitted as part of my application to the Iowa Young Writers' Studio.

Inferno lept into us,

Into our feet,

Into our eyes,

Into our hearts.

They started to bleed and we tried to run,

And the Inferno kept jumping,

Threatening,

They were Laughing.

They were Humming.

And down the street,

The little flames danced,

In the reflections of windows,

Newly washed, cleansed,

Into the eyes of passers by.

They sang their song,

Their song of Inferno,

Behind the men in the café on the square,

Who had gambled too much.

And their hearts bled,

whenever they played them.

They danced into the schools,

Into the squares, the pulse of the city,

And they sang their song:

Of Blessed Inferno.

They danced into our feet when we tried to run,

They danced into our hearts when we tried to love them,

The danced into our eyes.

Our bloodshot eyes.

They rose onto the reflections,

of the clean glass,

in shops on the street

and danced until,

The crystals cracked.

And the passers by did not want

to look,

In fear that it might distort

Their lovely faces.

“Sing me your song!”

The children plead,

of the flames,

As they danced into the red streets

Singing the song,

Of Blessed Inferno.

And they sing the song.

And it rings for all eternity,

In our eyes,

In our hearts,

And they try to run.

The children.

The men in the squares,

As the coals grow hotter.

The coals sprout flames,

Like flowers of a forgotten spring,

As the world goes up,

To the tune of Blessed Inferno.

The streets stand still.

And they do not want to look

Into the cracked glass

of the sooted windows.

Because they are afraid

That the glass is not glass at all:

But a mirror.