127. Hearth

 

This past Thursday I had an intriguing night at a private members lodge in Toronto. Far from the pervading pretentiousness of all that I had experienced to date at private members clubs, the experience was life affirming in its open nature. The sense of community amongst the myriad of starkly different people was mesmerising. This poem explores the essence of the night. 

Invited to the hearth last night,

Bring libations I was told,

To the hearth, it’s open fire.. 

Bring all young and old. 

Came a man in his work suit, 

Thousand dollar, whitest collar 

With a bottle of vermouth 

To the hearth he came. 

The next in was woman drab, 

Glamour lost, but humour fab,

With pale ale, smiling glad 

She came into the hearth. 

A man named Paul, he brought a fish,

It did not smell for it was fresh,

He sashimi’d it then a there 

And kindly fed the hearth.  

A gaggle of the young were spewed 

From the night, disquiet youth, 

They brought wine, and nibbled food 

Deep inside the hearth.

All in all, so many came.

From the blackness to the light,

For a moment in the night,

Came into the hearth.

(Photo – Eli Woodbine, Ontario, 2016) 

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