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Fire Gazing

Little Black Lamb

By Jennifer Lorraine - Bloch McGeePublished about a year ago 1 min read
Fire Gazing
Photo by Mohamed Nohassi on Unsplash

Fire knows me well.

It tempts me to make it

on a fertile matchstick and bear it

in a white papered wastebasket.

It spreads. I freeze.

I watch family heirlooms burn.

I stare, transfixed, wanting to crawl inside

to look outward and see

what is sees: my baby

sister in the crib, her pink

pajama slippered feet poking through the bars.

Mother lulls awake in clouds of smoke and runs

like a knife dulled down

trailing in the thick.

I barely remember the sound of sirens

or air so crisp I choke.

Mom stands at the curb

cradling the smoky baby in her arms.

I slouch beside her listening

to the crackle of dying flames.

She does not hold my hand

in the warmness of her palm

or press my head against her heart.

surreal poetry

About the Creator

Jennifer Lorraine - Bloch McGee

*Imagination is the plaything of fairies. Without imagination we are doomed*

My heart and soul goes into my writing. If I don't bleed a little, I haven't done it right.

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