april.lila

Australia

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Firelight

January 6, 2020

FREE WRITING

4
Firelight, as bright
as the end of a day, as warm as
the finishing and diminishing crescendo of spring
growing into summer.

Little blue flames lined the old Vulcan gas heater, 
on winter mornings it would start with 
a roar, 
tick, tick, tick. 

We would warm our naked little selves against
tiny flames. 
I did not understand how they were so warm.
It was the gas.

Firelight was the crackling soundtrack
to many long, hushed conversations
of growing old and young;
it was the ode to new friendships, 
fleeting. 

Firelight contained in beeswax holds me
accountable for my words, 
words written to the firelight sky
and dedicated to a life-giver.

My eyes heal. It is the opposite of blue. 

Rhapsodic flame, rhapsodic. 
Small, 
all-engulfing,
dwindling, growing, flickering, fragile. 
Rhapsodic.

The ending of life, the beginning of life. 
Feared, worshipped. 
Sprouting words and adjectives,
proclaiming charred new beginnings.

Firelight chases laughter, eats it, consumes it
and leaves no trace
for a while. 

I fall silent and want only to stare, 
observing your effervescent nature and 
husky voice, firelight. 

Your nature is nature. 
Firelight, the faithful, feisty companion
to all people and their non-human friends,
opening, spitting, burning, raging, roaring,
dying.

Even your youngest child has a temper.
 

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  • January 6, 2020 - 6:05pm (Now Viewing)

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