Aaron's Corner

I want to thank Aaron Espy for submitting the following items. I want to thank God for giving him the talent to create such writings.

ALL ITEMS ON THIS PAGE ARE PROTECTED BY (c)COPYRIGHT AND MAY NOT BE REPRODUCED WITHOUT THE AUTHOR'S PERMISSION.

Firefighters

Standing in the gap, these,
of courage and honor,
who place themselves
 between the fire and its prey.
They give themselves to defend
life and livelihood
of those they do not know,
protecting what is cherished.
Their combat is all to often in vain,
yet still they confront
this relentless, merciless enemy.
They garrison our streets,
keeping vigil over our cities and burgs
day by day,
waging a never-ending battle
against a nemesis who would strike
in a thousand different places.
They claim no distinguishing features
from legions of others,
save their unselfishness
and depth of commitment
to those they share life with.
They are professional firefighters, who,
for their great sacrifice,
ask no more than the respect
of those they serve.

"You Had to Be There"


What phrase does one use
to describe a plastic telephone
that turns to liquid
and dribbles down a smoldering wall
like molasses?

Or the sensation that pounds
in the throat and temples
of a rookie
when his engine rounds a corner
to confront the red-orange glow
of his first fire?

What words do justice
to boiling black mushroom clouds
that pulse from the structure
he prepares to enter?

What sentence captures his delight
when he has found the source,
dispatched the demon,
and emerges from a potential tomb
to claim victory?

"You had to be there" comes to mind.

Quiet Killer, Silent Valor

You watch their attack
in amazement-
these men in fire gear
and breathing tanks-
as they advance into a building
that boils black smoke
and vomits flame.
You shake your head in wonder
and think to yourself
what courage, what bravery,
(what stupidity).

And you are right-
brave and courageous  they are.
But they lay life
and health on the line,
not only in the fire,
but every hour of every day-

When they treat
a bleeding man
 with hepatitis-
a coughing woman with tuberculosis-
an accident victim
bloodied, trapped in a mangled car,
who happens to carry
 the AIDS virus.

Their bravery in the sick man's office,
the afflicted woman's home,
is not as apparent, as dramatic
as on the fireground
where the car tires melt and its paint blisters.
Yet in both, they show their valor-
every day,
 every hour.

I Travel Light

Dress blues,
jeans and sweatshirt,
Nikes and black wingtips-
An overnight bag that bulges
like grandpa's post-Thanksgiving stomach.
Of course there are my poems,
just as wrinkled
as the t-shirt and jockeys
they're sandwiched between.

There isn't much that's needed here
in this swollen-eyed
and tear-streaked town-
just someone to help bury the dead
with more fitting words
than trite political phrases
from lips that have never tasted
sulphur, sweat and blood.

I smooth the pages,
re-read the lines,
long since memorized,
press them flat
and visualize
a thousand dress blue uniforms

with yet one more

who paints his poems upon their cheeks,
blending with their tears,
memories,
words to salve their grief.

Headed home
this time
they ride
near the Benadryl
and Motrin,
Folded neatly once again,
this time
in a side compartment
medicine for someone else's soul.

Down the Runway

With the telephone's ring
my answering machine
breaks yet another tragedy.
"Can you come," they ask,
"to honor him
with your poems?"

In a handful of hours
a 737 rockets me down the runway,
headlong into leaden clouds
and sobs of valiant men
in formal dress blues,
wives in black veils,
and fatherless sons
who fidget with clip-on ties,
trying to be brave because
daddy would have wanted that.

Tomorrow I'll approach
the lectern
after a brother's eulogy,
before a pastor's prayer,
and wrestle with the lump
rising in my chest,
only to be lost,
between verses,
in the eyes of his wife, wondering
what were their last words,
how long their last touch?
My eyes will not meet his son's
for they are fixed on the floor,
and I will wonder
if my little man would also find
a fire fighter funeral
a bore.

I'll leave the church
and some will thank me-
others will not notice
as they flounder in their grief.
A Hertz  rental, a terminal,
another plane,
and I'll be home again
to kiss my wife,
squeeze my children,
and ponder why
the youngest and the bravest
must leave us
with such regularity.

The moonlight that seeps across
a  decade's worth
of  his valentine and anniversary cards
piled high
on her kitchen table
finds me standing at a kitchen window
half a continent away,
praying tomorrow's poems
are not read for me.

Firehouse Poetry 8   by Aaron Espy

Five Things a Firefighter/Medic Wants You to Know
Badge of Faith
Because it Matters
A Lion's Heart
Quiet Hero
Unbroken Bond
To make a difference
Fair Trade
Firefighters
You Had to Be There
Quiet Killer, Silent Valor
I Travel Light
Down the Runway

-Written by Aaron Espy, Firefighter/Paramedic

Aaron is a Firefighter/Paramedic in Kitsap County (just west of
Seattle, Washington). He has been a professional firefighter since 1980. He is a freelance writer, poet and has just started writing a bi-monthly column called "911-Fire and Rescue" for Kitsap County’s primary newspaper.