third degree burn
Molly Beane Poetry | September 19, 2019 | San Diego, CA
I have always held this uncertainty with equanimity.
An unspoken promise.
This gentle burning tucked behind every secret in my heart.
I tamed it to a flicker but it defied my every attempt to extinguish it.
There was the occasional oxidizing agent.
Temporarily set ablaze, I’d lap it up like Christmas morning
then suffocate it back into captivity.
Naturally then, I was not prepared for the Flashpoint
nor its’ rapid convection.
I was absolutely electrified by the chain reaction.
The reagent melted my composure and transformed it to madness.
Could you feel it?
Did you deliberately set the match to my flame?
Or were you simply allowing yourself to be lit up, engrossed by
some perfunctory impulse?
Uncertain. Ambiguous. Molten.
Stupified. Unable to catch my breath.
Mind a blurry mess.
My only choice was to listen with my heart instead.
Afterward, I steadied myself and summoned a hurricane.
It nearly drowned me but did absolutely nothing to quell the inferno.
And now I am alone, consumed by ashes and grief.
I am calling. Can you hear me?
Is that you in my dreams or a decoy?
I dance before you. A sacred spectacle.
Then withdrawal. I wish I could bury you again to avoid the wound.
The inevitable third-degree burn, followed by a scar that will never heal.