Night. Fire
by Elaine Sexton
When we looked up after hours of staring
at a crimp in a log, the shoot blue
flames, puffs of smoke
the tide that was right here had gone
way out, so the waves were now strokes of gray
in the distance, and the dark night closed in
on us, everywhere at once.
Everywhere at once the sky was touchable,
for of course it was right here, over us,
as well as way out over the smaller and smaller waves,
coming forward but still going out.
Coming forward but still going out, leaving
us to watch this crashing in and in
yet each time receding, the way our conversation
happened along those same lines.
Along those lines we managed a few
untouchable subjects, the way we imagine
we can touch a star or the moon on a night like this
but know we really can’t. We imagine we see
everything more clearly, but that doesn’t work
with the past. Which is what we were dealing with—
in the way families try to deal with this sort of thing.
Families deal with this sort of thing
poorly, so far as I can tell, and, when the bon-
fire loosened its hold and we stretched our mysteries out
over the sand, the way we’d never do over a meal
in one or the other’s house, we heard
the lips of one wave touch another as if each spoke for us.
And words came slowly, or didn’t come at all.
Slow, or sometimes not at all, seemed better
than never. And never seemed to be coming
forward like the sky, which is always so close
and receding at the same time.
from Site Specific: New & Selected Poems reprinted with permission of the poet
COMMENTARY
Just in time for summer, a poem set on the beach. “Night. Fire,” spoken in a conversational tone, is a poem about family members around a bonfire at the shore. Letting us see waves as “gray strokes/ in the distance” and “the sky…touchable,” the poem creates a scene like a painting, a seascape in words.
The poet, Elaine Sexton, has repeated the end line of each stanza as the first line of the next to imitate the sound and feeling of waves at low tide, “coming forward but still going out.” The form, which she fashioned for this poem, sets up a hypnotic rhythm that mimics the lulling sound of surf in the dark.
Something about the bonfire, the dark, and the rhythmic waves lets siblings touch on “a few untouchable subjects.” The words resonate especially now when we gauge carefully what we can talk about with whom. Imitating the people speaking,
the lips of one wave touch another as if each spoke for us.
And words came slowly, or didn’t come at all.
Which, the poet tells us, “seemed better than never.” The poem ends with an image of the night sky, “always so close/ and receding at the same time,” much like the waves and the poem’s own cadence.
Elaine Sexton is a poet, critic, bookmaker, educator, and librettist. She is the author of the opera, The Post Office, written in collaboration with composer Laura Kaminsky, premiered in 2026 at the Brooklyn Academy of Music and Spruce Peak Arts. This chamber opera in poems was published in book form by Grid Books (May 2026). Her previous collection of poetry is Site Specific: New & Selected Poems (Grid, 2025). Her four previous books of poetry are: Sleuth (New Issues, 2003), Causeway (New Issues, 2008), and Prospect/Refuge (Sheep Meadow Press, 2015), and Drive (Grid Books, 2022). She leads poetry workshops at Sarah Lawrence College in Yonkers and will read on October 11 with two other poets at the Hudson Valley Writers Center.
Marion Brown’s two poetry collections, TASTED and THE MORNING AFTER SUMMER, were published by Finishing Line Press. She lives in Yonkers. TIDE TABLE, her first full-length book of poems, will be published by Broadstone Books in 2027. Her website is marionbrownpoet.com. Marion has done readings of her work at The Hudson Valley Writers Center. Learn more about the Hudson Valley Writers center here.
