A Red Christmas Bike
it was the week after Christmas,
the one when fate had granted me my fondest wish,.....
(a lustrous, ruby-red, Schwinn bicycle that sported a basket in the front, and a bell to ring.)
On that cold, late December night, I'll always remember how suddenly the sky was stained by the color of alarm
My young mother leaving her warm bed at three in the morning
without tying her robe, rousing us all with calm haste
Deep red reflections seeped through mud-splashed window screens
as she shooed us like sheep, down raw-grained stairs.
She pushed us from behind with her two hands,
out the door, and onto a frost-slick back porch,
into the wee hours of early light.
By then, wide-eyed, we stood and watched the fire from a safe distance,
as it consumed our garage. And, my bike.
From the frame of the doorway, and the top step's narrow slat
she enveloped me in her folds of chenille to keep me from shivering.
The cool of her hand on my shoulders,
watching my dad in his attempt with a hose,
to douse the inferno,
all the while, in a faltering voice, warning him to keep safe.
Sounds of sirens wailed in the distance
When I looked up into her face, with anxious eyes
I remember her soft, reassuring voice
"Hush now, don't cry"
"Everything will be alright."
I don't remember much after that,
except looking down, at her bare feet
turning blue in the cold
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