Black Iron

Black Iron

Mister Layton stood at the stove, staring
At the sapphire circles of gas flame,
Each tongue atop a yellow base, thinking.
The heavy bowl of flour and cornmeal sat
At his elbow, a miniature desert valley
Full of grains and grooves and dunes, waiting

To transform what he would offer. His old
Arm trembled when he swung black iron
Across and set it on the closest eye.
He tipped the can of grease and spilled a ribbon
Onto the slick obsidian of the skillet.
Then he turned and took a mug from the

Cupboard, then reached again in patient measured
Rhythm, a priest at his altar with his
Vessels, and drew out a bottle gleaming
Amber and spilled good liquor into the mug.
A pax of chunked-up channel cat was at
His elbow and it came to pass that hand

And wrist and elbow danced in lamplit time
And dredged those horseshoe slices in the bowl
And by that time the grease was singing in the
Skillet. Mister Layton rinsed his hands
And lifted mug to lips and drank it off.
Fire of joy did blossom up, replaced

Between two thumps of chest by too-familiar
Gloom, as gray as northern geese and twice
As loud. He dropped the fish, piece by piece,
Into the scalding fat and watched the knots
Of tiny bubbles ring each slice and work their
Alchemy, turning into gold

That pallid flesh that lately swam in sun-warmed
Fonts while watching the buggy surface above.
And later when the beans were done and corn
had had its way with him, Mister Layton
Bowed his head beneath the cobwebbed ceiling,
Said his grace and broke his fast, the lifting

Sun the color of the one remaining
Inch in his bottle. While the sudsy
Water steamed in the sink, he put
Away the fragments and then washed up all
The vessels, their office once again complete.
When the day could not be stopped, he took

To his couch and stretched upon it, paying
Silent devotion to the photos
On the wall, young and old, both of them
Cold in God’s good ground, and he sniffed
A bit and closed his eyes and waited to
Awake when shadows painted softer tones.

~ copyright 2023 by S.K. Orr