This is an improv of Thomas Kinsella's "Mirror in February." This elegy has an interesting rhyme scheme so that's what I wanted to improv. I also liked the line "dry bedroom air."
The night dims with lightning bugs
and giggles of children from other rooms.
Their parents, anxious for some unplug
some lack of consciousness till tomorrow,
that the giggling costumes-
masks the adult sorrow
that this is their day, forever.
In a child's dry bedroom air, a lamp
sits in the far corner, dust covered
and unplugged, beckoning to clamp
hands over a neck, squeeze last bits
of anything to taunt rediscovered
veins to a brain unlike what split
in two on the back porch, under light
of a different lamp: one shines of aluminum,
the giggles of a tomorrow today.
Can someone really understand why magnesium
burns the way it does- rapidly
like holding out a candle on a tray
so calm, something placidly
contained within the confines of madness.
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