Seduction by Fire
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The flame dances wildly,
haphazardly
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throwing shadows about the
darkened room.
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I lean forward over the
small table
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and inhale the creamy vanilla
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of the burning wax. From
the open window
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a breeze blows in and and
gently taps the flame,
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scattering the candle’s
perfume
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throughout the tiny room
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and the memories escaping
from me.
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Wisps of smoke spiral up
from the dancing flame.
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I stare into it, beyond
it,
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my eyes filling up with
the light,
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trying to capture the perfume,
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my memories.
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An ashen cloud blotted out
the sun
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and threatened to blast
our little town
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with a wintry storm, the
wind howling around us,
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ripping at our clothes and
stinging our cheeks.
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I wondered how long it took
to dig your grave.
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Watching as the coffin was
lowered into the ground,
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I tried to imagine what
you looked like at that moment.
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I stood before a thick slab
of cold stone
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like the table your body
lay on in the morgue,
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but this stone slab bore
only what was left
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of you: your name. Streaks
of crimson ripped
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across the horizon, and
the land smoldered
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like dying embers trying
to retain their heat
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and stave off the unforgiving
cold.
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But the winter’s night moved
in, extinguishing
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the flame, and the wind
ravaged the trees,
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assaulted the land. Waves
tore the surface
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of the lake, its waters
not gently rippling
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and reflecting sunlight
but thrashing about
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the pulsing stars struggling
to shine.
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My eyes blink. I see my
reflection
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in the dimpled glass of
the window.
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I move closer to the flame
and blow it out.
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This page last updated 1/29/00.