CONSUMED
It was just a small fire
smoldering
on the kitchen table when
she came home from work.
It was just a small box
of photos, school friends,
kept on the closet shelf,
cherished mementos
from my mothers childhood
melting into nothingness
on the Formica table.
It was just a small spark
of jealously, uncontainable,
for him.
It was just
a
small
fire.
@copyright Susan Taylor Brown 2010
All Rights Reserved
Oh, Susan.
The shapes of these stanzas to that last fierce one, gave me the chills. You say so so much in so few words.
And you’re halfway through the month! Your courage is inspiring.
Thank you, Jeannine. It’s very healing for me. I am letting go of more and more each day.
Noooooooo!
That’s no small fire: It’s a soul-scorching conflagration.
I’m so very sorry,((SUSAN))
Thanks, Meloyde. It certainly was soul-scorching to my mom.
tanita says 🙂
It was just an eraser.
It was just a smudge across the page of her life, saying, “What you had before me didn’t count.”
It was just the last sign: he’s Mr. Wrong.
Re: tanita says 🙂
How true. How very true.
This is amazing. You are blowing me away with these poems, Susan.
Thanks, Tracy. They’re sorta turning me inside out but in a good way. I think.
Would we not all like a small fire once in while to get rid of the things we no longer want or could cope with. The thing is I really don’t think mine would be a small fire and some things as hard as you try just never go away if that was indeed the intention.
I wish it was that easy but some things are clearly not. For me anyway.
– Anne McKenna
Yes, the idea of getting rid of all the things we couldn’t cope with sounds good to me too.