Elijah Series: Rod from the Fire

Elijah, grandson Called to be great From beyond the grave of mine Decades after the blue ink And biological memory ticks to the beat. Each story shall be told After appropriately rewritten and retold Of times when young A life lesson did I learn Or not, or not, more often not learned. Before I started school I roamed the desserts around my home And hung out with new friends like Diaz, Lopez, Sanchez, and Josea. One night we sat Around a fire my friends and I And some new guys New big guys, older, wiser Cooler than my old friends One of them Challenged me As he dropped a steel rod Into the edge of the fire Can you remove the rod from the flames? My friend Vernon warned Don't do it, the end is black but still plenty hot And the older kid asked “Are you afraid?” “Of course not,” I said Without losing a beat And reached in and pulled the rod From fire to ground. I heard my skin complain But in the dark light of the fire No one saw the pain Saw the pain register on my face, I sat there until only Vernon remained As I ran my hand Through the cool sand At the end of the day Hoping somehow to stop the pain Screaming I’d been played And maneuvered against my own hand. In time, my one friend As darkness settled in Talked me into going in Telling my mom and Aunt Min My hand was in pain And I’d been played. Butter in those days Was the cure Or not the more correctly As I endured without crying The pain of not being true And trusting my own way. Roe April 2022