The Lifesaver

by L. S. KLATT
 

The lifesaver found himself on a fire escape reading
a set of instructions. Step 1 directed him to match
the conflagration in his mind with a facsimile
that appeared in a diagram on the page.
That much was obvious, but Step 2 required careful
application: facing the riot & attempting to
extinguish it. This was complicated by the reality
that before him were hoses, claws, rakes, hooks, & wrenches—tools
which, it seemed, had something to do with firefighting.
What the volunteer had envisioned was a collapsed barn
in the middle of a swale, horses trampling a stand of green
rushes, a canoe overturned waterside. Below
him, however, being lobbed from the street, Molotov cocktails
troubled the semblance. Yet he continued to fancy
panicked mares fleeing the imaginary barn as it erupted
into blaze. The rushes added a dreaminess. To his
way of thinking, the fugitives represented
a roving ardor bereft of wisdom. Fair enough.
The rest of his company worked just out of sight; the truth
of the occupied city block was new to the lifesaver.

 

[Purchase Issue 14 here.]

L. S. Klatt‘s poems have appeared or will appear in Surface, Copper Nickel, Sycamore Review, the Kenyon Review Online, Denver Quarterly, and Bateau. His fourth book, a collection of prose poems entitled The Wilderness After Which, came out from Otis Books (Seismicity Editions) in 2017.

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

The Lifesaver

Related Posts

Headshot of Aimee Nezhukumatathil

Nocturne for Dark Things

AIMEE NEZHUKUMATATHIL
One of the marvels of my life— / an alphabet. A whole green and mossy / world can be made and remade / from just twenty-six dark curlicues. / Here’s more dark: sometimes birds sleep / tucked under a giraffe’s dusky armpit / and sometimes fungi fatten only at night.

A fishing boat on Dal Lake in Kashmir

[Freedom Song]

FATIMAH ASGHAR
i plead, come help free me from me. what an overworked god / the policemen’s gun turning towards the sand, the ocean’s azaadi / crashing blue wave after blue into the fishing boat, thieving / life from its water. everything is a freedom song, i hear azaadi / in the wind & in the flood

Supermarketing

LAUREN DELAPENHA
For example, the last time I asked God / to kill me I was among the lemons, remembering // the preacher saying, God is a God who is able / to hunger. I wonder, // aren’t we all here for that fast / communion of a stranger reaching // for the same hydroponic melon?