A BRIEF HISTORY OF FIRE
Everyone who loves me loves me
because I’m insane.
I ignited, but,
Mother, what was the word before
we had that one, before we landed
on ignited? I loosed myself into the world.
It was a grand mistake
and it felt good, in the nature of most
irreversible decisions. Imagine the pasture
as you are rarely asked to imagine the pasture,
ablaze and screaming and thrashing
in the gentlest breeze.
This practice absent
of romanticism. This hard
orange light and the sweat
of the brow. Life comes,
this writhing and loss.
The earth scorched, the house
deleted. And me
on the naked edge of the picture,
I should set my luggage down.