A Posse ad Esse [from the possible to the actual]
by Wusai

Plaster walls, charred and black -
Redwood furniture a pile of dark ash,
Wires emerging from electrical outlets ensnaring each other,
Red and yellow and white, flicking their copper tongues,
Hissing blue-white sparks into the burnt, smoky air.

An oak dresser. Once polished, bright, now a sooty brown.
Dried flowers turned to cinders, jewelry box a lump of black.
A gilded gold picture frame, glass cracked . . .
Photograph untouched.

And staring out of that photograph, a solitary figure.
Eyes clear and sparkling, lips curved in a wide smile.
Smiling at the ruins.
Smiling.

Maybe he is a chivalrous knight,
Braving the scorching heat of the dragon's flames,
Facing its claws with unswayed bravery,
Slaying the dragon with a single swipe of his sword,
Wrenching out a talon as a prize.

Or maybe he is back from a snowball fight,
Out in the winter, wind whispering,
Remembering cheers as each ball of slush and ice hit,
Cheeks flaming from the air's pinches as he grins.

Perhaps that grin is a facade,
Meant to fool unsuspecting people.
A mask to silence the screams behind his eyes,
A mask to hide who he is -
A mask to show the face of another.

Perhaps.

In another room a ballerina leaps -
Skirt of flame and hair of smoke,
Slippers of blue and eyes of yellow,
Twirling and dancing,
Draping herself sensually around crumbling wood,
Devouring everything in sight.

And the photograph -
The knight, the child, the mask.
A person locked in time,
Memory stolen into the belly of the whale,
Swallowing everything with its golden-red mouth.

Up the collapsing stairs, in the bedroom,
The photograph lies in his bed,
Eyes open and glassy, the whale advancing on him -

Perhaps he is Jonah.

Poet's Notes: Constructive criticism appreciated greatly. Keep flames civil; if you only have praise, please tell me at least which parts you liked. Thanks.