The grown-ups have built a bonfire big as a house,
singing in firelight and grasshopper clicks,
flushed pink as the fleshy flowers saucering insects
from sparks chimneyed into the pitch.
The rich night air grows thick with the sweetness of
apple skin bruised in the grass, the perfume of ferns
and the petals we plucked for our tea.
Below me my siblings are moling through tunnels
with Mum and a crusty map; a band of explorers
with candles for torches but I am too young to do that.
Watch flames winking brightly from bells upon toes,
wonder up at a ballet of stars.
Mary Senier (she/her) is a poet from the Black Country (Twitter @MarySenier). She has been published by Abergavenny Small Press, The Alchemy Spoon, Ample Remains, Re-Side, Postscript and Tealight Press. She has work upcoming in Opia, Seafront Press, Fahmidan Journal, Journal of Erato, Burnt Breakfast, and Walled City Journal.