21

Goodrich Castle – Civil War tore down
its curtain walls, fired its stables,
drove horses and people mad with fear,
all destroyed, a way of life, gone overnight.

I stand in the ruins of the solarium
beneath towering columns
empty now of the stained-glass
that would have kept out the rain
and retained the sun’s heat.

I imagine standing there,
speckled in sunshine,
coloured diamonds covering me.

22

I stop in the ruined quad
to sniff the air, to imagine the panic,
to smell the crackle of burning,
to hear the high-pitched screams
of dying horses, trapped in the stables.

Sometimes, at night,
fate mans the pumps of my blood,
and sends fire alarms surging
through my veins.

I do not want to die alone,
defenseless, besieged by memories
that gnaw away my remaining days,
like flames.

Commentary:

Memories burn away my remaining days, like flames. Fire controlled, stolen from the gods by Prometheus in Greek Mythology, by Zopilote, the Trickster, in Oaxacan Mythology. I will always recall those early mornings in Oaxaca, standing on the azotea (rooftop) doing my morning exercises in the half light. High above me, Zopilote slowly spiralled. His wings glowed red in the sun that had not yet penetrated to the earth below. As he descended, he brought the sun fire down with him and gifted it to humans.

Fire and flames, under control, in the candle on the table, on the birthday cake, in hearth and fireplace, a life-giving source of heat, light, and energy. Fire and flames, uncontrolled – wild fires in the woods, blazing out of control. It happened last summer. A severe drought, and the woods so dry. A lightning strike – and fire and flame soon raged, out of control. Smoke darkened the skies and the smell of burning hung around for days. So many people evacuated, moving out of their houses with three days, two days, one day’s notice. Sometimes it was so much less. Three hours, two hours, one hour … our community newsletter contained details of what to have ready to cover each of those situations. Very sobering and thought-provoking.

Back now to Goodrich Castle. The occupants trapped inside the walls with no place to go. Horses and livestock trapped in the stables, and those life giving flames now bringing death and misery. “Man hands on misery to man. It deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can.” Hands up all of you who recognize the author of those lines, a great English poet who is possibly not as well recognized as he ought to be. I know who he is, but I’ll leave you guessing and googling! Go on, Google him. I know you want to!