Alarm

Author

By Thomas Speer

Publish Date

March 25, 2015

Thomas Speer

I wake to the scream of the fire alarm,
like the shock of neon in the dark,
stumble into the hall, and see
a tongue of light beneath Carmen’s
doorway. Throwing the door open,
I find her standing in the center
of her room, in a pool of smoke
so thick I can scarcely see her feet.
I watch her as she pours water
into a blackened, half melted
wastebasket. She is naked.
She appears to rise
out of the smoke like a Venus.
She does not cover her body,
or run to hide, only says to me
calmly, with all the dignity
of her 14 years, “I’ve been smoking,”
and then, looking down, “I am naked ...
you should leave.” It is like
seeing her for the first time:
she stands still as a pond in summer,
and I am as filled with wonder
as ever in my life. Not knowing
what to say, I throw open the windows
and tell her put on your clothes ...
go to bed, words so ordinary,
so insufficient they spill
to the floor, and stepping
back into the doorway I take a last,
awkward look around,
shaking my head,
and return to my bed.

Tom Speer is the father of Carmen Speer, the heroine of this poem and the co-author of their book of poems, Tandem Space: Daughter Father Poems. His first book of poems was titled My Father’s Shoes. Both books are published by the Pima Poets Series.