burned
bad.
Daddy
put a pail of kerosene
next to the stove
and Ma,
fixing breakfast,
thinking the pail was
filled with water,
lifted it,
to make Daddy’s coffee,
poured it,
but instead of making coffee,
Ma made a rope of fire.
It rose up from the stove
to the pail
and the kerosene burst
into flames.
Ma ran across the kitchen,
out the porch door,
screaming for Daddy.
I tore after her,
then,
left behind in the bone-dry kitchen,
I flew back and grabbed it,
throwing it out the door.
I didn’t know.
I didn’t know Ma was coming back.
The flaming oil
splashed
onto her apron,
and Ma,
suddenly Ma,
was a column of fire.
I pushed her to the ground,
desperate to save her,
desperate to save the baby, I
tried,
beating out the flames with my hands.
I did the best I could.
But it was no good.
Ma
got
burned
bad.
July 1934