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

This page last updated 1/29/00.