Fire

The flame, plume of tortured wood-gas,
whips his frenzy against the air
Coming and going, like never, like always,
always in transit, never the same

No two fires are alike.
I had to work to make this one burn.
The wood was too large, too damp, too chilled.
I piled on twigs and blew like a madwoman,
facing the fire, firing my face,
willing him up to sustainable heat.
Now, a child I made, he cries for food
even as he warms me.

(First published in Pixel Papers)

What do you think?

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.