You Can't Mistake the Smell

A hearth’s fire in deep snow January,

and we all slept in the living room

with doors closed to save propane

while I woke every few hours to add

a log because dad was overnighting

for the trucking company, leaving me

as the man to tend the warmth

against clear skied, bright star, bitter

cold to make the difference

at the end of the month for groceries.

You can’t mistake the smell. It soaks

even your follicles with itself—

peat, birch bark, almost black pepper.

So I understand the king marveling

as three boys emerged not only

unburnt but without bitter fragrance

of his arrogant furnace. The dead men

lay by the door with toasted flesh.

The boys warm with the Presence,

aflame but not burning.