Burn
Why worry my spleen, my mad?
I deserve a better gig
than holding these cinders
Fire has a purpose, but
not one I am always
able to understand.
I love to hold a torch,
which is not the same
as carrying a torch.
My mind swirls orange, red,
yellow, flame-like.
80 mph winds sweep through.
Fire’s wake requires tearing down
or rebuilding. Your choice.
I’ll wait; hold a cup of water.
Drink it slowly as you consider
my offer. Your hair is gray,
You don’t have much time.
I deserve a better gig
than holding these cinders
Fire has a purpose, but
not one I am always
able to understand.
I love to hold a torch,
which is not the same
as carrying a torch.
My mind swirls orange, red,
yellow, flame-like.
80 mph winds sweep through.
Fire’s wake requires tearing down
or rebuilding. Your choice.
I’ll wait; hold a cup of water.
Drink it slowly as you consider
my offer. Your hair is gray,
You don’t have much time.
January / February 2023
Joyce E. Young is the author of a collection of poems, How it Happens, published by Nomadic Press (2018), which was nominated for a California Book Award. Her writing has appeared most recently in The Lake County Bloom, The San Francisco Public Library Poem of the Day, Essential Truths: The Bay Area in Color, Smith Alumnae Quarterly, #MondayPoetryPause and Clearly Meant Presents: the Berkeley Public Library. Her poetry has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She writes poetry, essays, and is currently at work on a memoir. She is a proud Brooklyn native who currently calls the San Francisco Bay Area home.
Art: AI generated by DALL·E