fireside

a poem

i’ve been running from fire all my life—

not because i’m afraid of it,

but because i miss it.

it used to fill the fireplace and

light the room.

my fat old cat would sprawl out on the carpet

and i’d play scrabble with my dad.

or it would be autumn.

and i’d be outside,

in the arms of my high-school ex

with his rolling stones sweatshirt on;

among a group of about ten friends

(just after my cat died),

and we were all fireside.

someone would inevitably

take out a guitar

(usually after the speaker died).

it’s crazy how much time has passed—

i don’t have a group of ten friends

anymore;

is that my fault?

was i the fire which engulfed

everything i was supposed to keep warm?

i’ve never written about fire—

now i know why;

the water in my eyes

puts it out before i can try.

this poem is in response to the “Burn poetry Prompt” by James (HVR)

thank you for reading 🖤

em

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