lessons on fire-making

he danced with his hands

or was it has hands who danced with him

birds rising and falling

one torn one worn

grip as powerful as an ape

swinging through the trees

the boy who climbed to the top

and reached for the stars

and laughed

even when he fell out the window

blood going everywhere

mother desparate: bind the wound

tendon broken

but the boy lived

and had himself a giggle.

He grew

mis-shapened

by the whisky on his father's breath.

Still he grew, tall and thin and straight.

but so much was crooked

bent to compliance and defiance -

a string of women, several failed relationships -

bent until he almost broke

but those hands

they knew how to grope and reach

to thrill and excite and bring to life

they brought so much to life

art and music and other people's creativity

hands moving over fabric, making things anew

his hands knew how to laugh

and when he broke

they knew how to be still

to rest on his lap

fingernails filled with dirt

nails unfiled

calusses from laying bricks, designing gardens, playing with dogs

holding nothing here

but his own heart

in the silence

he reached out to the trapped boy the lost one.

he built a foundation at the base of his self

his hands didn't move

as he filled the holes burned by papa's whisky and this-is-just-too-much

with a new kind of healing soil and then - warmth -

in the quiet after the fall

he discovered: fire

his hands showed me

lessons learned amongst trees:

How to make fire.

Smash stone against stone.

(fist against fist, knuckles scraping one another).

the spark.

slowly feed it with moss and sticks (miming, one atop another)

small ones

dont go too fast

go slowly.

blow

your own life force

breath

is needed

blow

gently

focus your attention.

(hands cupped to face)

focus on the fire

not on the howling wind or the cold night or the bright stars

focus on the fire

(hands a circle, holding, containing the brightness, shielding the spark)

let it grow

soon now

soon

there will be roasted sausages and sweet potatos

(hands splayed wide, fingers stretched out, an exploratory adventure)

but first (hands drawn in, close to chest)

slowly

nurture the spark.

(hands cupped together,

as in prayer

with space between

or as if he held

a tender bird

almost

ready to fly

to dance-

almost).

and then his hands

laughing, warmed: resting.