Cleaning the Pool
My son woke with
bites about his body—
small scarlet circles
we discover before
the morning swim
he plans to take
with his brother.
I make note to wash
his bedding, thinking
the thing that bit him
slept with him. As we
walk to the small pool
a man is cleaning it.
He tells us to wait
an extra half hour
before they splash
in the chemically blue
water below a condo
we’d rented in Manson.
Not to digest waffles;
their rectangular pool
had filled w/ash overnight
as the First Creek Fire
burned on the other side
of Lake Chelan.
The man uses a long net
to fish out Dalmation flecks
sprinkled across the surface.
Then he sprays green chairs
and tables, putting out whatever
is on them. While waiting to swim,
I try to find this fire that had been
watching us with one eye open
as we slept. Overhead, a helicopter
dangling a wet package coasts toward
the curtain of rosy smoke I can feel
in my throat. I follow it. But only
after spending the day submerged
and letting the simmer of a sun set
do I finally witness the flames
creeping down the bare ridge
like a red spider in the dark.
—Jared Leising
Used by permission of the author. Read more about Jared Leising.