At some point or other, we’ve all wished to warm our hands alongside the cleansing fires. 1Wise-Woman’s “Arsonist,” explores this urge beautifully.
Birthed into flames
Neonatal neurosis
Suckled on psychosis
Face streaked black
Chocking on ash
Back against the wall
Tucked into crumbling
Child’s memory
Tell me lies of
Wind in my hair
Swinging
From a tree
Once anchored
Now singed
As my heart
Rotten roots
Fight for life
Never ends
Home sweet home
Gorged with grief
Something’s gotta give
Give me my knife
Turn over birthright
That I may slice
Away limbs
Of fragmented family tree
Snagging on guilt
And what was supposed to be
Rise and disappear
Just vapor lost to
Unstable atmosphere
Imprisoned progeny
Preserved pyre
Smolders like hope
Time of reckoning
Is here
I am my
Own arsonist
Warming hands
On a burning world of
Impermanence
erichmichaels 