or Getting the Backhoe out of the Mud

Today, in shelter from the rain,
wet clothes hanging and slumped around,
wet gloves and boots
not getting dryer in the damp air,
I perceived that I am a firemaker

I felt the heat my body makes,
its quiet fire within
working the magic of chemicals
with deft precision

I thought about the fire my kind has learned to coax
from tinder bundles, wood and friction
(for which I carry memory
and latent skill)

Then there’s the fire that we have later
turned to big machines, which,
though they now seem to hold a power
of their own,
must still be subject to our mastery of fire

And quick as that, I understood
that we could not be stuck
although the backhoe sat
enmired in mud, its wheels dug in

I knew that we are firemakers
and so have power
to move the things we’ve made from fire,
that with the same intention
and persevering focus
and hard committed work,
we could do it —
and so it was.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 22, 2015